


Star System to Star System

by SeasonBySeason



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, corin has it really rough my god can we give him a break, give grogu a blaster or something he will sort it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasonBySeason/pseuds/SeasonBySeason
Summary: Unfortunately, Corin's luck does not extend to keeping him out of trouble, or trouble away from him, as much as he wishes it would.He sees trouble at work, as he travels, and even in the conversation of strangers.The list of habitable Outer Rim planets must be smaller than he thought, because the odds of finding trouble this often shouldn't be possible.Trouble, being the Mandalorian Corin keeps bumping into of course.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin
Comments: 37
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know whats canon and whats not, i simply do not care for it
> 
> this has been rewrote a lot and i wanna do it again but i do not have the power to, so take my monkey brain scrawling

Corin spends a lot of his time on planet these days.

Not that it’s a bad thing, no, there’s nothing wrong with spending time seeing the galaxy in person rather than through a holovid or from the window of a transport ship. There’s nothing quite like being able to set your eyes on a new horizon, taking in the view, appreciating being alive, and hoping that’s not an Imperial ship you’re squinting at in the distance.

Corin, ex-Imperial, lives with a healthy fear of the Empire, and a deep seated, long standing hatred of anything or anyone related to it. But as he insists, it’s healthy, if Corin didn’t feel anything after everything the Empire put him through, he’d be worried he’d lost his humanity.

During the time working for the Empire, he spent most of his time with his squad off-planet, their ship docked on whatever flavour of the week star-base they’d find themselves taking orders from, or sitting idly in orbit waiting for an assignment. Which was fine, until DI-355 died in his arms, surrounded by the bodies of the rest of their squad mates, all left for dead, a burning town behind him, and hundreds of innocent people dead.

Really and truly, a fantastic Empire standard team building exercise.

It was enough to finally kick Corin into gear anyway.

He attributes the success for his escape on a long string of unusual good luck, and nothing else. A stray thought and inside knowledge on security measures for particular ships-- Corin didn’t think too hard about it. His feet moved on their own and he was stowing away on a streak transport ships, all to put some distance between him and the Empire. Landing on odd planets he had to learn to navigate the hard way, sleeping on streets, finding food, water, and then sneaking back onto a transport ship before the Empire could catch up to him.

And then repeat the process on the next planet.

He’d had expected his luck to run dry at every turn, end up with a blaster shot through his head because he said the wrong thing, turn down the wrong street and lose a limb, walk through the wrong door and be somehow recognised and dragged back to the Empire.

But that didn’t happen. As much as a foreign concept as it is to him, the galaxy is full of folk who are willing to extend a hand to someone in need.

The first was a Human woman with a heavy Alderaan accent who vouched for Corin as her son and paid for his passage on a long transport, claiming to have lost any sort of identification for him. Before they parted ways she handed him a small pouch of credits, and Corin so thankful he was in tears.

The next one after that, there was a middle aged Bothan who assured the pilot on another transport that Corin was his long standing business partner, and spent the length of the journey teaching Corin of the state of politics in the Outer Rim at the current time.

There was many more after that, passerbys that were willing to take time out of their day to give Corin directions, vendors willing to lower their prices by a couple of credits so Corin could afford food, clothing, or even a room for the night.

As unfathomable as it was to him that strangers were so willing to help him on his way, Corin couldn’t bring himself to ask any of them why. Why help someone they didn’t know? The universe was a tough enough place, and none of those who helped him were particularly wealthy themselves. They had nothing to gain from helping him on his way, yet they did.

He doubts they would have been so kind to him if they had known he was ex-Imperial. But he clings to the kindness they showed him regardless.

Relying on strangers to aid him wasn’t practical, and certainly not sustainable in the long run. All of Corin’s combat survival training taught him that he needed to be self sufficient, and resilient to any obstacle, so he started picking up odd jobs on the planets he deemed he was far enough from the Empire to spend short bursts of time on.

He’d take any odd job that was offered to him, manual labour, repair work, he even took a short supply delivery job once using his basic pilot training. The Empire didn’t equip him for any career other than murdering people, but Corin would like to think he’s a fast learner.

Of course, Corin is no stranger to how fickle the universe can be, and holds his breath for when his luck finally will turn sour. But before it does, it seems some power out there wants to make sure Corin is firmly on his feet before it sweeps them out from under him.

There is also the odd bounty job that pops up now and again.

Corin shouldn’t be all that surprised that he’s not the first person to want to be free from the Empire. He hears about it all the time now, of the extensive selection of bounty pucks for Imperial benefactors and defectors.

Great to know he’s not alone, less great to know that there’s probably a puck for him out there, and it’s only a matter of time before another bounty hunter is at his doorstep.

Corin is not a vindictive person by nature, but he does find some peace in being the one to put a blaster shot through some of the faces of the guilty parties on those bounty pucks.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t feel some sense of obligation to clean up the galaxy to right his wrongs. That’s much too selfless of a reason for Corin to allow himself to use as justification.

Corin is simply very concerned about his own survival before anything else, but he’s got a long list of names he’d like to personally see to, so it can’t be helped.

It’s tiresome, but people with pasts like his don’t get fairy tale endings, but freedom from the Empire is more than enough for him.

He adapted quickly to life outside the Empire, he’s used to the motions of living scarcely, the possibility he’d need to pick up his life at the alert of an Imperial ship entering the atmosphere.

What Corin doesn’t like are the long stretches of empty space or nights under the stars when he’s travelling in between work, it’s those times where the reality of how utterly alone he is becomes a little too much.

But at least his life is always busy, it’s familiar work most of the time, and when it’s not, Corin enjoys a challenge.

Although a challenge is not what Corin is presented with currently.

This time, no crazy Trandoshans chasing him through dense forests, no Rodians hell bent on shooting him out of the sky, just watching and waiting in a quiet portside town on the planet Scarif.

The spaceport in Roquimn is the only part of the town that one could consider as ‘built up’. While the state of the port is presentable as the planet’s biggest, best (and only) spaceport, the same cannot be said for the town that sprawls out behind it. It’s almost exclusively a fishing town, as are most of the other towns and villages on this planet. There’s more boats pulled up in the water along the docklands than ships sitting idle in the spaceport.

It makes sense, the planet is small, and remote enough (even for Outer Rim standards) to get little visitors, and Corin thinks that in itself is an damn shame.

The planet is truly beautiful, its vast oceans, rocky archipelagos, sandy beaches and verdant jungles, it was serene, picturesque. If it was any closer to the inner rims, it would be a vastly popular resort location.

Corin was not the most dedicated student when it came to learning the name of planets, or their locations on star charts, but he has made a particular effort to commit this one to memory.

He’s been here for 38 standard days, which is a considerable amount of time, but again, it cant be helped.

Corin is waiting for a very specific transport ship to dock, he’s heard that there’d be a certain someone on that transport ship, and it should be arriving on the planet’s only spaceport before the first Primeday of the seventh month.

He’d hate to just sit around and do nothing, idle hands and all of that, so equipped with his mediocre knowledge of machinery, Corin finds light mechanic work in the starport to busy himself with.

It’s strange and different, but he is quite fond of Predjan, the mind-mannered Twi’lek mechanic who took Corin under his wing as his apprentice, even despite Corin’s lacking knowledge.

And so, here he is, squeezed up in between the cracks of the landing gear of some rust-bucket of a starship, tightening bolts and getting grease and oil all over his work clothes. His only clean work clothes he should mention-- he’s only got one issued jumpsuit to wear at the dockyard, and every time he’s asked to crawl into a tight space he comes out with a new tear or stain in them.

He’s gotten into a habit of zipping the dark grey jump suit half way down and tying the arms around his waist so the fabric doesn’t get caught on anything in the nooks and crannys he ends up needing to reach his arms down.

He doesn’t want to talk about how all his white undershirts have rips and tears in them instead, but they’re more easily replaceable.

Corin is tying up some loose wires from the electric motor when he hears a knock on the metal panels on the outside of the ship to get his attention.

“Hey, kid!” Predjan’s muffled voice calls from outside the ship. "Can you hear me in there?"

Corin takes the wrench out from where he was holding it in between his teeth, pausing in his work to shout loud enough for Predjan to hear him. “Yeah?”

“You almost done under there? We’re scheduled for hangar 7 in fifteen.”

Fifteen? Surely it's hardly even midday. Corin frowns and checks his watch, cursing at the holoface that informs him that his ability to keep track of time is abysmal.

He’d really let things get away from him this morning.

“I’m just about done!” Corin calls back out, very much not almost done.

He's not a slow or sloppy worker, it'll fly, yes, but it's a little haphazard under here.

Corin tucks in the last couple of wires and secures anything he's left loose, and shuffles out from where he’d lodged himself in between the ship’s walls and the long metal bars of the landing gear.

He’s careful as he’s crawling out from underneath the hull to not to snag his clothing on any jagged metal that hasn’t been beaten down, as Corin doesn’t think he can suffer the embarrassment of knocking on his neighbours door again to ask the kind lady if he can borrow her sewing kit, and also if she can show him-- once again-- how to properly sew the rips in his work clothes.

Corin's out from under the ship and at Predjan's side as quick as ue dares to go, covered in dust and dirt, but work clothes safe for another job.

“Thanks for that, kid.” Predjan clasps his shoulder, handing him a rag to wipe his hands off. “I can never fit my head up into those tight spots.” He grins, shaking his head slightly to emphasise the lekku on either side of his head.

“No problem,” Corin hands Predjan the rag back after wiping the dirt off his face and hands. “Do you want to give the landing gear a test before we go then?”

“I’m sure you’ve handled it.” Predjan waves him off, packing up the remaining tools left strewn around the ship. “But you're very quick to leave, eh? That's unlike you, what did you break under there?”

"I just don't want to be around when it explodes on launch." Corin shrugs, bending down to help Predjan in his round-up of their tools. “I'm only following your teachings, those twirly metal things are supposed to stick out, right?"

"Very funny," Predjan gives Corin a light shove in response, "If there's any complaints we'll have someone else look at it, don't return to the scene of the crime Cirva, you should know that." He jokes. 

The smile slips from Corin's face. iI's a harsh reminder that Corin cannot get too comfortable here when Predjan calls him 'Cirva'.

Corin's glad that Predjan isn't as stiff as some of the Twi'lek he's met, Predjan has a way of putting him at ease, he didn't mean anything by it. It's just-- Maybe it's silly, changing his name from place to place, he's not some famous wanted criminal, but he is wanted. And a criminal, by New Republic standards.

"There were some severed wires for the motors, I think that was likely the culprit for the landing gear catching." Corin says after a few quiet pauses. "I oiled the joints just to be sure, and replaced two of the valves too.” He thinks for an extra moment, placing the tools he had picked up onto the shelves of the rolling cart. “And a few loose bolts that needed tightening, if it’s worth mentioning to the office.”

Predjan doesn't mention Corin's shift in attitude, only nodding along approvingly as Corin goes through his checklist. 

What Corin wouldn't do to have a galaxy full of people with just a crumb of Predjan's endless tact.

Predjan doesn’t ask invasive questions, or ask for more information than what Corin offers in conversation, it's so refreshing! The bar to be met for the standard of conversations is so low, and yet people always seem to find a way.

Corin helps him unhook the fuel line from the ship and lets Predjan wrap it around its stand on the wall. “I’ll make sure it goes on the repair log then.”

Their work is finished after recording the ship's work on the hangars holopad, Predjan and Corin signing the end of the log before leaving through the door and giving the cleaning crew the all clear to get started on their power washing.

Corin follows Predjan out of hangar 18, rolling their tool cart across the cracked pavement of the starport at a casual pace.

They're well over the fifteen minutes they were supposed to have to get to the next ship, but clients here are often easygoing, and Corin doesn't think anything around here runs on schedule to begin with. On his first day, the repair team he was shadowing were thirty five minutes late, and when they arrived they graciously informed Corin that they were early today, just for him.

If it was the Empire in charge, they'd all be quickly replaced, no matter how good at their jobs they were.

But it's not the Empire, it's a sleepy starport, and Corin is allowed to enjoy the easy silences between him and Predjan, no pressure to perform to ridiculous standards. They work to live, not living to work. It's a lot more comfortable.

Predjan stops into the mechanic’s office as they pass by to quickly check in and make sure they’re on schedule.

(They both know they're not, but at least they can hold onto an air of professionalism)

Corin leans against the wall of the dockyard office as Predjan sorts out the documents for their work, Corin's no stranger to how long this will take. He'll be in there a while arguing with the office that yes, they did need to tear out all that wiring, and yes, they do think it was necessary, who are the mechanics here?

Thankfully, people watching is endlessly entertaining in any port, and Corin waits patiently outside, watching the rest of the port's inhabitants as they mill about.

He recognises a few of the faces Predjan had introduced him to, giving them a wave or exchanging a polite nod as they pass by. Some stop for a quick chat, asking Corin about his day, how he’s finding working there, and is he finding his way around alright.

He reminds each one good naturedly that he’s been working here a little over a month now, and if he couldn’t find his way around by now there’s no hope for him.

It's the same interaction every time, they each give him a pat on the shoulder, telling him that it’s always hard for newbies. Corin grumbles in some way or another over being called a newbie, and Predjan (whenever in earshot) doubles over in laughter at Corin’s reaction, thinking him to be endlessly entertaining.

Corin is halfway into reassuring two of the port's older mechanics that Predjan isn’t working him too hard, when Predjan re-emerges from the office and whisks Corin away with a promise to the other two that Corin will be fine. Working hard builds character he laughs, moving both Corin and the tool cart along before the can protest any more.

Corin lags a few strides behind Predjan as usual, taking note of what ships are occupying each of the bays that they pass. Predjan has caught him doing this before, but he's able to write off what would look like paranoia as professional interest. 

As the weeks have went by, every trip up and down the hangar makes Corin more anxious. He hasn’t seen a single transport ship even vaguely matching the description he’s been tipped off to look out for.

He’s got another week before the first Primesday passes them by, so there’s still time yet for a ship with matching tags and description to land, but lengthy jobs make him antsy.

They're quickly at their destination, having to weave around the groups of portworkers, clients and related folk meams they are forced to keep a somewhat lively pace.

they round the corner of hangar 7, Corin stops in his tracks as soon as he sees what’s parked inside.

At a first glance, the ship is a wreck. At a second glance, Corin decides that what he’s actually looking at is a pile of scrap metal, that should be sold and have the credits put towards and actual ship.

“I.. dont think this is worth fixing.” Corin hesitates, not sure if he should just start rolling the tool cart away and go get their next job from the office.

“I can see why no one else wanted to take this one.” Predjan chuckles, clasping him on the back a little harder this time, causing him to stumble into the tool cart, bringing both him and the tool cart forward into the hangar. “Let’s give her a better look before we decide, eh?”

Corin doesn't want to argue, and begrudgingly helps Predjan through the preliminary checks. They copy down the ships name and identification onto their work datapad, and then set up the fuel lines and secure the ship into the hangar properly. 

(Though Corin thinks it’d fall apart if it was asked to move in the state that it’s in anyway.)

“It looks like it needs a new everything.” Corin says circling the ship and giving it a proper once over. The gunship (the Razor Crest, the hangar brief provided), wasn’t what Corin would consider unsalvageable, but it had certainly seen better days.

The exterior of the ship is just a mess of scorch marks and burnt metal that has clearly lost any integrity it once had. The panelling is barely holding together, with gaping holes and gashes that look like someone took a force pike to the side of it. Corin laments to think of the machinery and wire work underneath if the outside is in such poor condition.

He presses down an exterior panel near where the ramp extends from the ship to see if the emergency unlock is functional to start with. He’s honestly unsurprised when the whole panel falls to the floor with a clatter instead of swinging open like it should.

Corin kicks the metal to the side and bends down, running his hand along the underside of the ship, pressing down where he felt dents or weak metal to see if it would still hold together. He sighs when his hand comes back black with soot from the same blaster scorch marks he saw on the sides. He wipes his hand on his pants leg and stands up back. Corin looks to Predjan, who has a similar unimpressed expression on his face. "I dont even know where to begin."

“Well we’re going to have to figure it out lad,” Predjan says putting on his goggles, strapping them over his lekku. “We’re going to have our work cut out for us on this one.”

Corin had hoped Predjan would announce that they're going to do a complete 180 back to the office and find something else. Something that was actually possible to fix, maybe.

Predjan tells him that he doesn't turn down jobs unless they're truely beyond help. Corin isnt sure how accurate that is really, he took Corin on after all, but he'll follow him mentor's lead.

Corin gets to work peeling off the loose outer panels to have a look at the wiring underneath. The interior beneath is in a similar poor condition, it being a mess of severed wires as expected, more dents and crumpled metal compromising the lining of the hull.

How did the ship even land in one piece? There's no way it survived a jump through hyperspace, he's not even sure how it survived the trip into orbit and through the atmosphere. The ship is oldnl too, and far outside the new regulation for gunships manufactured nowadays. Corin would need the arms of a Besalisk to be able to count on his fingers the safety concerns he has for this thing.

From the state of the outside, he assumes that over half of the electrics are either faulty or not working, there’ll likely need to be a lot of wiring replaced.

When Corin does pry the panelling off and stick his head inside the ship walls to have a look, his assumptions are rpoved right.

The wiring that is intact is in a disappointing state-- either severed completely or stretched too taught, looking like it could snap at any moment. And even if the electrics were fine, Corin can see a multitude of bent brackets and torn gaskets, there’s probably not a single thing on this ship that works as it should right now.

Corin grabs a flashlight from the tool cart, rounds the side of the ship, drops down to his knees to stick his head under the ship to inspect the panelling on there. He rubs his hands along the scorch marks along the underside of the hull, hoping to get a better idea of the state its in but only succeeding in dirtying his hands again. A mix of blaster and canon damage he guesses.

Corin sighs, all this panelling will have to be replaced to make sure hull integrity would keep stable.

He pushes himself back up off of his knees and dusts himself off. “With all this damage, why not just buy a new ship?” He grumbles. It would save him a headache at the very least.

“Haven’t found a good enough price.” A voice that certainly isn’t Predjan says from behind him.

Someone other than Predjan? In their hangar? Where no one, last Corin remembers, is also?

A cause for concern.

In this moment of panic, Corin realises he's without his blaster. Hard working mechanics can't just walk around with weapons on display, that's dangerous, and bad for business.

Which leaves his only weapon being, well, his only option.

Corin spins, throwing the contents of his hands at the location of the voice on reflex, and reaches for the vibroknife in his pocket.

As soon as the flashlight leaves his hand, however, Corin realises that maybe, just maybe, he has over reacted.

He's been here long enough that if someone was looking for him, they'd have found him by now, he's deemed it safe to be considered safe for now. Plus, if he was going to be caught by surprise, he'd be dead before he knew it.

Predjan told him after the first incident where Corin almost electrocuted someone that it isn’t the best business practice to attack anyone who accidentally sneaks up on him. When an event unfolded in similar, almost lethal fashion a few days afterwards, Corin was warned by management that he was on thin ice.

He can only watch in stunned horror as the flashlight sails through the air.

There goes his job anyway.

Corin's would-be assailant leans to the side, dodging Corin’s pitiful attempt at self defence with ease, letting the flashlight fly over their shoulder. Corin winces when it bounces to the ground with a light clatter.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry-- I thought-- I didn’t realise anyone else was here, I--” Apologies rapidly tumble out of Corin’s mouth, hand flying away from the knife in his pocket. He's too mortified to make eye contact, if the ground could open up and swallow him, now wouls be the time.

He’s both furious with himself and rapidly tumbling into the depths of despair. How could he screw up like this again, and in front of Predjan too. Kriff, is there a case he can make to management? No one was hurt, it was a simple mistake, no harm no foul, right?

Corin looks up from the flashlight that sits innocently on the floor to the figure in front of him, ready to be berated by the probably very indignant stranger. Bribery is not off the table if it means this doesn't get to management.

Except he does not meet face to face with an indignant stranger. No, he’s actually looking at his own reflection. In a helmet.

A helmet made of very shiny beskar.

Beskar.

Ah.

Corin has royally fucked up.

He knew he was cutting it close staying on one planet so long, but he was enjoying his time here, and whatever the Empire sent Corin’s way, he assumed he could roll with the punches. For all the stormtroopers left, the Empire didn’t have a military force like it used to, and using their limited resources chasing one runaway Imperial doesn’t seem like something that is worth their time.

But for the Empire to send a Mandalorian after him?

He'll make his peace with the universe quickly.

All of the stories he’s heard about Mandalorians, their fighting prowess, they’re the most fearsome warriors in the galaxy, and, much to Corin’s despair, known for being rather good bounty hunters.

Corin’s not sure how his combat skills match up.

Any useful thought process is currently at a dead halt. Corin wonders if he should throw a punch and run for it now before the Mandalorian shoots him, or wait to see if the Mandalorian is in a friendly mood-- maybe he'll be willing read Corin his long list of crimes before freezing him in carbonite (and letting the Empire shoot him instead).

What Corin does quickly decide is that he should have put more effort into throwing that flashlight.

“Come now, Mandalorian,” Predjan rounds the side of the ship to stand beside Corin, unaware that he is fighting the mental battle of his life. “You’re asking for trouble sneaking up on people like that. Cirva coulda had anything in his hands. You’re lucky you didn’t catch a wrench to that shiny helmet of yours.”

The Mandalorian's helmet turns to Predjan, posture lacking any sort of aggression, which is deeply concerning and rather confusing. Shouldn't there be some sort of blaster fire, or demands of surrender?

Corin wants to tell Predjan to run and stay out of what’s inevitably going to become messy, but the Mandalorian responds to Predjan in an even tone of voice, not friendly, but not aggressive or upset as Corin had expected.

“Of course,” The Mandalorian regards Corin with a slight turn of the helmet, “It wasn’t my intention, I apologise.”

Corin's eyebrows shoot up, and his jaw drops. Isn't he going to-- Shouldn't he cuff Corin or something? Why is he apologising? 

Predjan nudges Corin's side with his elbow and Corin jumps, catching himself before any more of a delayed response. “No-- I mean, I’m sorry-- It shouldn't have--” Corin flounders, waving his arms as if to try and explain in some way his thought process. Predjan elbows him again lightly to stop, which Corin needed, he's liable to do something more embarrassing the more his mouth is open.

Overall, This interaction going a completely different way than Corin expected, he's not sure what to do with himself.

There's an awkward pause for a moment, before Corin breaks the silence. “I’ll just, uh, get my flashlight.” Corin points lamely to where its rolled off to, before ducking around the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian nods, seemingly satisfied to leave it there.

As Corin moves to recollect his flashlight, Predjan gives the Mandalorian a run down about the current condition of the ship, and asks what problems the Mandalorian has with it. Corin doesn't need to listen to the conversation, the answer to that question is 'everything'. Corin doesn't want to be there when Predjan gives the Mandalorian the estimated bill anyway, this is no small job.

Corin must really be out of it today, he should have heard the Mandalorian approach him, he doesn't know how he didn't hear the light hum of hover-tech that entered the hangar.

He hears it before he sees it in this case, it’s not till Corin is past the Mandalorian that he notices the hover-cradle that had been obscured by the Mandalorian.

Or more specifically, notices the small green child, with big brown eyes and long ears, leaning over said hover-cradle's sides to stare at Corin curiously.

Corin's very glad his aim was terrible, he'd never forgive himself if he had accidentally bonked this baby when he threw the flashlight. He's a sucker for kids, especially cute ones, and he can’t help but smile at the child, giving them a little wave as he passes.

The child perks up at the attention Corin gives them and gurgles back at him, using their tiny clawed hands to minic Corin’s wave back at him, opening and closing their hand in a grabby motion.

Corin beams at the gesture, the little thing is so sweet, his heart can't take it.

The Mandalorian’s head turns at the noise from the child, looking to the child and then to Corin, who still has a silly smile on his face.

Ok, bad luck then. Corin really has a death wish it seems.

For all of the knowledge he lacks about the Universe, Corin does know that Mandalorians are particularly protective when it comes to children. Why his brain didn't supply him with the reminder before is beyond him.

The Mandalorian is probably thinking of a dozen different ways to punt Corin across the spaceport for even looking in the direction of his kid, and Corin doesn't blame him.

Corin ducks his head again, he can feel the Mandalorian stare at him from under his visor as he scambles to scoop up his flashlight quickly and rejoin the safety of Predjan’s side.

“Quite a bit of work to be done on her,” Predjan remarks as Corin settles back next to him, ready to get to business on the talk of repairs. “I hope you’re not in any rush.”

“How long until it will fly?” The Mandalorian asks, his visor finally shifting away from Corin and back to Predjan.

Corin almost sinks to the floor in relief.

“If you want it done properly, a few days at least.” Predjan pushes the goggles back off of his face, rubbing his chin in thought. “If you want a rush job, well, whatcha think, Cirva? You had a better look than me.”

Aaand nevermind.

“Oh, uh,” Corin turns to look at the ship and away from the Mandalorian, trying to collect his thoughts. “There was a lot of wiring that needs to be fixed, the inner lining of the hull isn’t too bad but most of the panelling on the outside needs to be replaced.” Corin fumbles through his shaky memory, doing some estimates on how much he could get done with Predjan. He turns back to meet the Mandalorian, not quite able to meet their gaze, so he looks up at the ship's wings instead. “Tomorrow morning maybe, if you want a rush job, but I really don’t think it’s the best idea--”

The Mandalorian holds up his hand, not unkindly cutting Corin off before he gets going on the many many problems and fixes he thinks the ship needs. “Tomorrow, if possible then.”

Predjan nods, “We’ll do our best. I’ll show you back to the office, you can square the cost up with them.” Predjan trails off, leading the Mandalorian out of the hangar, the child still leaning out of their hover-cradle to look at Corin, who smiles softly and waves to them again before the Mandalorian and the child disappear around the corner.

For a near death experience, that went rather well. Comparatively.

The Mandalorian wasn’t offended Corin tried to knock him over the head with a flashlight, nor did he seem overly angry at Corin's actions towards his child. And most importantly, the Mandalorian isn't here for him.

Or maybe he is, Corin is sure he'l if out later if that's true.

The only thing Corin can bank on right now is the Mandalorian not being able chase him while his ship is in this state.

Which raises the question of how his ship got to such a state. Ships don't fall into such disarray on their own. So who attacked the Mandalorian, or was ihe fighting back? Where had he been, and what was he here for? And of course, the child accompanying the Mandalorian.

Thinking on it now that he's calm, Corin can’t seem place a name on the child's species, and he can’t remember being taught anything in the Academy about any race matching the child’s appearance.

Corin has many questions about the child, like are they the Mandalorian’s? Corin can’t imagine the Mandalorian having ears like the child, they wouldn’t fit under the helmet. Unless they’re wrapped up? The Mandalorian is vastly bigger than the child, are they even the same species? The child looks so young, they don't look older than any human baby, and they didn't speak to him, so why are they with the Mandalorianto begin with?

Corin will admit he isn’t the most knowledgable about Mandalorian customs, so perhaps it’s normal for them to teach their children with experience from such an age?

Corin’s mind wanders back to the child’s attempted wave and that same stupid smile finds its way back onto his face. The child was rather cute, he can’t blame the Mandalorian for keeping them around, whatever the reason may be.

At the end of the day, Corin supposes that it’s not his business anyway, but it all feels like bad luck looming over him.

Standing around and doing nothing will do him no good, if Predjan gets bad and finds him dawdling after the display he just put on, there'll be trouble.

Corin wheels to toolcart over to the ship and start stripping wires.

* * *

Corin spends the next hour tearing off the last haphazard patch up job the ship has had. There is no difficulty with the demolitions that him and Predjan labour over, as anything not bolted down falls off with little effort from their side.

After the worst of the damage is catalogued, and the salvageable parts stripped, Corin spends the next six hours with Padjan hacking together their own rendition of a patch job and repairing the worst of the damage.

As they work Corin is able to get a clearer idea of what actually needs to be done on the ship, and it’s not as bad as originally thought.

Bad, but not as bad.

One of the engines works fine, and the other only needs a couple of parts replaced, along with a hours of work before it’s functioning as it should. Both lazer cannons need some realignment done, but for the most part, no major issues there either. Corin replaces the wires for the rest of the obvious issues, and most of the lights, doors, and ramps all work with minimal troubleshooting.

Much to Corin’s relief, the hyperdrive system is intact. He doesn’t know if Predjan is equipped to repair something as delicate as that, but Corin certainly wouldn’t trust his mediocre skills with something so temperamental.

In the end, the worst damage is superficial, which means Corin got off easy being on electrics duty. He can tell that this ship hasn’t seen a real repair job in a long time, but he supposes if you patch up a ship enough times, it makes up a full maintenance workup?

By the time they finish up on the repairs, the second sun has set from the sky, and three of the planet’s four moons illuminate the hangar.

Corin deems the ship to be in an acceptable shape when it’s able to get through the bare minimum tasks on the testing checklist with no problems. There’s still a couple of things he’d like to tidy up, like cable management and cleaning up the ventilators, a little more work on the engines, but it’ll fly.

Corin should leave it there, it’s really all the Mandalorian asked for, but Corin takes pride in his work and he’ll be damned if Predjan receives complaints of shoddy workmanship on his behalf.

That, and he feels just a little guilty about earlier.

He asks Predjan if he can stay a little longer outside of work hours to finish up, it's not overtime, he doesn't want to be paid, no more than an hour, really Predjan.

Predjan leaves him in hangar 7 with his credits for the day’s work, and a promise that if he finds out Corin stays too late working, he’ll have his husband, Rnel, out to hunt Corin home.

And that is not an idle threat, Rnel means business.

(But if there’s any trouble, don’t be afraid to come and get them, ok son?)

It takes Corin another hour, sitting on top of the ship, upper half of his body stuck inside the engine, to be satisfied with how it runs.

He first only wanted to fix up a small connection issue he wasn't happy with, but that ended up become Corin spending too much time re-routing wires and zip tying clumps of wires together so that things look cleaner inside.

The next mechanic to have the misfortune to get their hands on the ship will thank him for it.

He’s finishing up welding the cover panel back over the engine when he hears footsteps approaching the ship.

Predjan has caught him red handed yet again.

Corin groans, setting down his tools.

“I swear I’m almost done,” Corin tries to start putting the fire out early, before Predjan gets the sweeping brush and tries to knock him off his sitting spot. He shuffles on his knees over to the side of the wing, and sits on the edge, swinging his legs over to dangle freely. “Just give me five more minutes and I’ll- Oh” He says, pushing up his welding mask, looking down to see, not Predjan, but the Mandalorian client standing below him.

“Not supposed to be working late?” The Mandalorian asks, head tilting back to look up at Corin. The child is in his arms this time, rather than in the hover-carrier, and Corin has to fight to keep a smile off his face when he sees those big brown eyes staring up at him.

“Not really.” Corin rubs the back of his head sheepishly. He’s less nervous than before, now that he’s settled on the fact that the Mandalorian isn’t after him. He’s also doubtful the Mandalorian would start a fight with the child so close, Corin can afford to be a little bit more casual. “Give me a second, I’ll come down now.”

Corin pulls his mask back over his face and welds the last corner of the protector down as quickly as he can without making a mess of his handiwork.

He stands and walks back to the edge of the ship's wing, sitting back down and pulling his mask fully off and holding it in his hands with his compact welding machine. The Mandalorian is standing below still, waiting patiently where Corin left him.

Corin realises he won’t be able to climb down carrying these, and weighs up his options. He’s either going to have to throw them to the ground and hope they don’t break, or ask the Mandalorian for help.

He really should have brought a ladder over with him when he climbed up, but Corin thought it would be a good idea to throw the tools up first, and then get some climbing practice in.

But hindsight isn’t wisdom, so he’ll learn for the inevitable 'next time'.

He’ll try his luck with the Mandalorian, the worst he can do is refuse. Or shoot him, but Corin is pretty sure they’re past that.

“Can you catch these for me?” Corin gestures to the mask and welding took in his hands.

The Mandalorian nods at the request, setting the child down on the ground next to him. He looks up at Corin arms now free, and Corin doesn't have time to be shocked that the Mandalorian actually agreed to help.

"Ready?" He asks, making sure that it really is ok, and the Mandalorian wasn't nodding at something else entirely.

"I won't drop them." The Mandalorian assures him. Corin opens his mouth to explain that that's not what he meant, but closes it again, deciding there's no point clarifying.

Corin tosses the welding machine first, making sure the Mandalorian has a good handle on the box before throwing the helmet down next, the Mandalorian catching both with ease.

Corin then rolls over on the wing, legs over the edge, then he drops, gripping the side of the wing with his hands. Corin checks below him, making sure the child is clear of his landing spot, and lets go of the wing, landing on his feet with a light grunt. He tightens the knot around his waist his jumpsuit arms are tied in, rolls his shoulders and turns to take the items from the Mandalorian.

“Thanks!” He grins, reaching out to take the items out of the Mandalorians hands. For lack of better judgement, Corin tries to joke with the Mandalorian. "You didn't drop them anyway!"

The Mandalorian pauses for a moment in front of Corin, and then hands him back his things without another word.

Corin falters slightly, the Mandalorian didn't appreciate the joke it seems.

The Mandalorian doesn't say anything else to him, instead turning to scoop up the child from where they’d begun to wander off to.

Just when Corin didn't think the child couldn't become more endearing, the child yawns in the Mandalorians arms and Corin thinks he might just melt on the spot.

The Mandalorian hits the ship’s controls on his vambrace, and the side ramp of the ship extends smoothly, door to the ship opening when it’s fully extended. (The ship’s controls functioning makes Corin feel immensely proud).

The Mandalorian is halfway up the ramp when Corin realises that the conversation is over, and he should probably leave now.

Corin checks the tool cart, gathering up all the missing equipment him and Predjan borrowed from the store room, checking the datapad to make sure he has everything packed up. He gathers up the smaller tools that the hangar owns, such as wrenches, rulers and such, and hangs them back in place on the wall.

Everything looks to be in order, except for the one empty hook along the shelf of wrenches.

Corin frowns, one of the small sized wrenches is missing.

It was definitely there when they started today. Some hangars have incomplete sets of tools, so they’re shared around often, so it's not unusual to have a couple of missing pieces. Corin is sure the rack of wrenches was full this morning though, he can't leave without finding it.

Corin checks all the shelves of his tool cart, taking everything off of it when he doesn’t find it after his initial rummaging around on the shelves. He certainly didn’t have it when he was on top of the ship, so it at least rules out him having to climb back up on top to search.

He’s starting to worry he might have left it inside the ship's walls somewhere.

“The kid had this.”

Corin’s train of thought derails spectacularly once again, the voice behind him making him jump and spin around, a spray can raised to throw at the attacker.

The Mandalorian raises his hands quickly in a placating gesture.

Of course.

Corin lets the spray can fall to the ground and covers his face with his hands and groans. “Do you ever make any noise?”

If he could stop making a fool out of himself every time he spoke to the Mandalorian that’d be great. At least it’s a good nervous civilian act, right? That’s certainly what he’s doing, very convincing stuff.

“Sorry, habit.” The Mandalorian says, and holds out the offending wrench. “The kid had this, if it’s what you’re looking for.”

Corin takes his hands away from his face to see what the Mandalorian is holding and smiles in recognition. “Ah! Yes, that’s it.” Corin pushes himself up off of his knees and stands, stepping closer to the Mandalorian to take the wrench out of his outstretched hand.

“Thanks, I’d thought I’d lost it.” Corin reaches for the wrench, but pauses just shy.

The cuffs of the Mandalorian’s under-armour don’t quite meet the top of his gloves, leaving a gap revealing the Mandalorian’s bare skin.

Skin, not the same light green colour of the Mandalorian’s child, but tanned skin.

Almost Human looking.

Isn't that interesting.

For some odd reason, this throws Corin for a loop.

He reaches past the wrench being held out to him, gently taking the Mandalorian’s upturned hand and pushing up the fabric of his sleeve up slightly to take a closer look.

So the child isn’t his then? Or maybe they are, and the child’s skin will change colour when he’s older? It does bring back up the question on how the Mandalorian’s ears would fit under that helmet if they were that big.

It only now occurs to Corin also that the Mandalorian is built _dramatically_ different to the child, would the extreme differences in height mean the Mandalorian is or isn’t related to the child? Human children are very small, but they do get taller, unlike some races who are perpetually small. But the child isn’t Human, so that wouldn’t really be applicable here.

Corin absent-mindedly runs a thumb over the exposed skin on the Mandalorian’s wrist, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he’s seconds away from realising that he’s been standing here practically holding the Mandalorian's hand.

“I thought you’d be green.” Corin supplies adsentmindedly, vocalising in a nutshell what he was thinking, as if in any way that explains what he's doing.

The Mandalorian is very still, and when the light bulb finally goes off in Corin’s head, he gasps and snatches the wrench out of the Mandalorian’s hand, backpeddling a couple of feet. “Kriff, I’m so, so sorry, that-- that was so unprofessional and-- oh my god, I’m so sorry--”

“It’s alright.” The Mandalorian cuts Corin off. He doesn’t sound angry, but Corin can see that his hand is clenched at his side.

He was right, this is all bad luck, very bad luck.

Corin opens his mouth to apologise again, but the Mandalorian moves first, stalking back to his ship without another word.

Corin is embarrassed beyond belief for the third or fourth time today? He’s lost count.

Corin hates when people touch him without permission, it’s something that stuck with him throughout all his days in the Empire, and still is something he’s very particular about now.

It took him two weeks to be alright with Predjan patting him lightly on the shoulder after they would finish a job. He probably crossed multiple Mandalorian boundaries, and likely leapt across many personal ones too.

Corin hangs the wrench on the empty spot, and pushes the tool cart of of hangar 7 as quickly as he can, not looking back at the Razor Crest once as he leaves.

* * *

The Razor Crest is long gone by the time Corin drags himself to work the next day.

Predjan tells him that the Mandalorian had left at first light, right after the office had opened up allowing the Mandalorian to leave in the credits that were owed for their work.

Corin can’t help but feel a tad disappointed that he didn’t get to wave the child goodbye, or apologise to the Mandalorian once again, and try to clear up what happened.

Corin had spent most of the night cursing his own stupidity, and thinking of excuses and apologises he could give to the Mandalorian when he saw him today.

Corin expects he'll have a large complaint left in about him in the office.

Before Corin can even ask Predjan if he still has a job, he's told to not worry about yesterday. Predjan laughs and says that Corin's attempted assault isn't what has the port so rilef up this morning.

A transport had arrived last night, long after the port’s main crew had finished up for the day, and only the bare bones graveyard shift were still hanging around. The crew had went to the hangar to ID the transport, and, ah, there was some trouble.

Predjan tells Corin to pay it no mind. It's very unusual, he assures Corin, he doesn't want him to get frightened by it. It's very safe here. If he wants to take a look for himself, run down to hangar 26 before they get started for the day, but don't take it to heart.

That makes Corin concerned more than anything else, so Corin jogs down to the opposite end of the spaceport, having to wade through quite a crowd as he gets close to be able to stick his head around the corner of the hangar’s doors.

When he finally catches a glimpse of the remnants of what had taken place last night, Corin knows he won’t need to bother to check the tags of the transport ship.

There's no doubt it was the one he's been waiting for.

Multiple port crews are cleaning up the hangar, picking up the catastrophic mess of metal, debris, and more notably, broken pieces of unmistakable white storm trooper armour, that have been scattered around the hangar.

There’s blaster marks on the walls and floors, and dark stains ground into the concrete which a cleaning crew are attempting in vain to scrub off. 

It's a complete mess, from the upended tool carts, to the shelves and fixtures have been ripped from the walls.

The transport ship is hardly recognisable, the Mandalorian must have set detonator mines because it’s a pile of smouldering scrap metal and rubble. Corin doesn’t know how he didn’t wake up the whole town setting the explosions off.

None of this gets more attention from the workers than the collection of bodies still clad in crumbling storm trooper armour being piled on a hover cart to be taken away.

It now makes sense why the Mandalorian would stop at such an unremarkable outer rim planet, it’s the same reason Corin has been here for the last month or so.

They were both given the same tip, and they both have a grudge against the Enpire in some form or another.

It doesn't really seem fair. Corin’s not all too happy the Mandalorian got to them first. He’s been waiting here for so long, and the Mandalorian swoops in in the last 24 hours and steals this out from under his nose? Hardly seems fair at all actually. 

But then again, looking at the carnage around the hangar, Corin’s just a little glad he didn’t take this one alone. There's only so much he's able to do with the resources he has. This is a little more than what he expected. A lot, really.

Corin spins on his heels, there's no point dwelling on it. He should get back to Predjan, they’re going to have a lot of work today.

* * *

Corin takes a transport off Roquimn the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god gulp shitto is back
> 
> i know where im going with this but i have no clue what im doing but just trust me, please correct any mistakes, they're likely in there somewhere
> 
> also merry christmas and happy holidays, i hope you are all doing well and are keeping safe :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok LISTEN in my defence, I thought this would be a lot shorter
> 
> uhhh i also posted the wrong draft of the first chapter, its like, idk 2k longer now, nothing really changed but glhf

The Inner Rim causes Corin nothing but trouble, and it’s becoming tiring. Fast.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with the Inner Rim, no, by all accounts, it’s the safest place in be in the galaxy.

For any reasonable, legal person, the law and order that comes with the New Republic controlled Inner Rim flight spaces and planets is a godsend after the havoc caused by the Empire. Now that people have something to put their trust in again, the infrastructure on the Inner Rim planets are flourishing, people’s standard of living are improving again, among many other improvements implemented.

Corin would attribute that to all those fleets of X-Wings flying around, very little seems to escape them these days, and from what he hears, they’re always hassling ships and pinging every craft for identification to degree that’s practically an invasion of privacy, but hey, if it works.

In the grand scheme of things, the New Republic are doing a bang up job with the Inner Rim, Corin can’t fault their efforts.

However, for all the good the New Republic boasts it does for the galaxy as a whole, from the view of those in the Outer Rim, it couldn’t seem further from the truth.

There is always a short straw to be drawn, and while the New Republic can say they’re ‘cleaning up’ the galaxy... It just pushes more and more to the Outer Rim to escape their laws and regulations.

And it’s noticable.

The Outer Rim has always kept him him busy enough with his other work, he’s had a blast working his way through Imps who have the misfortune of flying onto Corin’s radar, some faces he remembered from his Empire days, most that he didn’t.

It’s always busy for him, yes, but not this much.

Over the last few months, Corin hasn’t had to look as hard or far to find remnants of the Empire, in fact, most of the time it’s them that find him unintentionally. Corin used to have to pop into local bounty hunting guilds and pick up a tip or two to find something substantial, but recently there’s been no need for that.

By his count this month he’s accidentally stumbled onto two slave traders, an Imperial backer, and two ex-Imperial command, their rank-- past or present, he didn’t care to find out.

And again, these were just the happy accidents he had found himself dealing with along his way.

He’s had already had his fill of adrenaline fuelled shoot outs with the trouble he intentionally went looking for, he doesn’t feel appreciative of the extra target practice sessions he lands himself into.

Corin’s ever-growing collection of injuries and scars he’s been steadily gathering over the years is really coming together now though. So there’s that, at least.

A break. A break is all he really wants.

Space station 219-RJ3 is situated at such a perfect spot for such a break, it hangs at just the right spot in the galaxy to resolutely mark the closest point to the Inner Rim Corin is willing to get.

A content lull between any sort of work, mundane or otherwise, that had been his intention for his stop on 219-RJ3.

A brief, but much needed respite, somewhere close enough to the Inner Rim to be safe enough that Corin could have peace of mind, but still a respectful distance from any official New Republic planets or airspace.

He’d like to sleep for an extensive amount of time, eat some food that isn’t rehydrated from a pouch, and maybe get his ankle checked by someone who knows what they’re doing, it’s been causing him some trouble ever since he’d spent that night strung up by it.

Not his proudest moment.

But as much as he would like to take a long break and sleep off his troubles, his break on 219-RJ3 will be short. It was decided for him before he had even set foot off the transport ship to get there.

Naturally, it’s when Corin isn’t looking for a job, one finds him.

Corin isn’t picky when it comes to work. He’ll take what he’s given because, well, beggars and choosers and all that. There’s a very short list of jobs that he’d consider ‘off the table’, those being anything related to pirates, spice runners, or slavers.

He’s got enough crimes against the galaxy listed under his name already, he’d like to not add the cherry on top if he can help it.

It’s no secret that the employers for these unsavory sort of jobs are hard pressed to find enthusiastic employees when their profession is either ‘make trouble for other Outer Rim folk, and hope whoever’s ship you’re boarding isn’t bigger and badder than you’, ‘spend all your live running addictive dust across the galaxy to people who’ll kill you if you’re too late, too early, or don’t bring enough’, or ‘raze towns and villages, steal children and then sell them to the highest bidder’.

All enticing career choices, but Corin will pass.

Or at least he tries to most of the time.

It’s an Outer Rim staple sadly. Pirates and spice runners who always have spots to fill in their crews, never enough muscle to point blasters, never enough hands to do the heavy lifting.

Jobs like those are one of the very few ‘no questions asked’ kind of jobs that will hire him with his shady background, they also technically gives him free transport from A to B, and there’s a sizable hazard pay that’s difficult to turn a nose up at.

Sometimes it’s unavoidable, the universe is unfair, picking and choosing who it deals a strong hand to, and leaving others to play catch up when they’re done playing.

Corin tries not to think too hard about it.

Corin didn’t need to work hard to get himself on his current crew though, he didn’t even know he had been hired till very recently.

It was on the transport from Movorrit to 219-RJ3, because it’s always transports, there’s a particular brand of bad luck that comes with the fact that you’re stuck together with complete strangers in a metal tube hurtling at unfathomable speeds across the void of space for an imprecise amount of time.

Corin tries to keep to himself on these things, but it _just_ wouldn’t be the same if there wasn’t at least one person who feels the need to strike up a conversation with him _in particular_ , no matter how much he tries to outwardly appear like he does not want to be interacted with.

This time, his unwanted company took the form of Zal, an unbearably dense human who took it upon himself to take up that mantle of overly-familiar-stranger. Corin shares _one_ bar with the guy near the end of the trip, and suddenly Corin can’t get away from him.

Maybe it’s because they were close in age, or just spoke the same language, but whatever it was, Zal glued himself to Corin’s side for the remainder of the journey after that, sitting beside him at every opportunity and showering him with questions, never waiting for Corin’s response but instead launching into his own answer or related story.

Even with the sparse responses from Corin, ranging from nods to the occasional noise of affirmation that yes, he was still listening, it was enough to keep Zal going for hours.

Hours.

Corin had to talk the other passengers down from taping the guy’s mouth shut after lights out.

Or throwing him out of the garbage disposal altogether.

Corin’s had practice with people like Zal, he spent years with DR-1111 talking the ear of him and the rest of their squad mates at every opportunity that arose. Zal would give Ones a run for her credits, at least they could mute her radio comms.

By the time they docked on 219-RJ3, Corin possessed extensive range of information about Zal’s life, such as where he’s been, where he’s going, what his favourite colour is, what he’d name a star if he had the chance, all of which-- knowledge Corin had no desire of having.

Corin thought he’d be relieved to see the back of him.

When if finally was time for them to part ways, Zal holding his hands between his own, he tells Corin not to organise sleeping quarters, he’ll have it handled by the time the rest of them get to the station later.

Rest of them?

Zal hands Corin a station map with ‘their’ meeting place for ‘later’ marked, and is off before Corin gets a word in edgewise.

This, understandably, had Corin quickly chasing after him to ask what he meant by that.

Somewhere between Zal’s green planet vine story, and him explaining what creature is the best choice for a ship-only pet, there’d been a conversation about Corin’s plans for the future, and if he was free to work a job with Zal and his crew.

Whatever response Corin had given, Zal took for a thumbs up that he’s completely free, schedule unbooked, and would love nothing more than to have the honour of being able to join Zal’s prestigious crew to spend even more time with him.

This all leads to a much more serious conversation about the actual logistics of what Zal thinks Corin is coming with him to do, right in the middle of the docking zone.

The main thing Corin gleans from the conversation is that Zal really is as harmless as he looks.

Zal, for once, is concise when he explains that him and his crew haul crates, transport cargo and deliver orders from 219-RJ3 out to other shipment hubs in the Rim.

They run strictly above board, he insists, catching Corin’s hesitation, he offers to show him how to check their records, he can check their ship manifests on the New Republic’s system, they’re very legal. It’s just hard to find capable crew mates to go on runs to the more remote or desolate Outer Rim planets. He’s be doing them a huge favour.

It also pays, quite a bit.

The reaction the statement gets from Corin makes Zal laugh, doesn’t he feel lucky to know him now?

But Corin is still unsure, his precious break, he’s finally got enough credits saved to not need to work like his life depended on it, he’s not going to get such an opportune chance like this again.

Zal is obviously dejected when Corin politely declines the offer, telling him that he won’t be coming along.

“Sorry for the misunderstanding Cerr, I’ll have to let the crew know, they were excited to meet you. We’ll be short handed without you, if you change your mind you know how to find me, I guess.” With how Zal looked at Corin, you’d think they were inseparable childhood friends, and Corin just told him he never wants to see him again.

And Corin, always the sucker, couldn’t stomach it. Corin sees carefree light in his eyes, genuine joy in his voice, and it screams naivety that’s waiting to be taken advantage of. Zal makes Corin nostalgic, somehow.

Corin feels obligated-- only a little, to come along just to make sure Zal doesn’t get sold a blurrg dressed as a bantha, or give his credits to a ‘runaway prince’ who needs the credits to take back his throne (but don’t worry, they’ll return your credits +180% afterwards!).

Corin would usually instantly decline any job offer like this, not needing to know any information. Any job so freely given to a stranger is bad luck.

But they’re not really strangers, Corin’s spent enough time around Zal to begrudgingly deem him acceptable company. By extension, he can assume that Zal in genuine in his offer when he tells Corin that it’s just moving some crates of textiles from A to B, nothing more.

It didn’t feel like the aforementioned bad luck looming over the horizon, nor particularly like good luck waiting around the corner.

It was a coin flip decision.

Corin is embarrassingly easy to crack, finding himself sandwiched between Zal and the wall of his cargo ship, Zal showing him pictures on a holopad while his crew go about their work around them.

It’s a small crew of five, including Corin.

Zal introduce his crew as they had boarded the ship, starting with a nice Zeltron lady who shakes Corin’s hand politely in greeting and introduces herself as Anena, their pilot. Shortly after her arrival, Corin is introduced to ‘the twins’, Jan and Lan, who tell Corin they handle everything that Anena doesn’t.

It makes Corin chuckle, watching Zal bicker with them, claiming that he does, in fact, contribute, and that they’re embarrassing him in front of the fresh meat.

They’re all rather young for what they’re doing, Corin observes, Zal included. Established enough to have to work a full time to meet their shipment schedule, flying so much sub-light isn’t very safe either. Corin can’t imagine having his life together enough a couple of years ago to set something like this up, it’s admirable.

Corin had been settled for a long flight, but it’s not long at all until he’s is back on his feet and stepping off the ramp of the ship onto _another_ sand planet.

Why they had to stop so soon to refuel didn’t make sense to Corin, hadn’t they just left 219-RJ3? They could have just filled the fuel tank there instead. Seemed like a waste of time to stop so soon.

Corin doesn’t want to complain and seem inappreciative in front of his coworkers, so he catches Lan to the side before they disembark the ship, asking quietyly as not to be impolite, just out of curiosity.

Maybe he asked too loud, because this launches not only Lan but Jan (who was also apparently within earshot) also into a chorus of offended noises. Pay for fuel? On 219-RJ3? Is he crazy? Hit his head? Did Zal talk so much it melted Corin’s brain melted and fell out of his nose?

Anena rescues him, letting him know that they’ll get a better deal here, with the prices the New Republic sets, you’d think everyone was made of credits.

Corin has to squint in the harsh daylight on this planet. Saving a couple of credits for this?

Not worth it.

Corin isn’t dressed for weather like this, he doesn’t have a very extensive wardrobe so he wears what suits most climates. He feels incredibly overdressed wearing a long sleeved shirt and industrial cargo pants, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he sweats through one of the two shirts he owns.

“Not a fan of the heat?” Zal asks, joining him at the bottom of the ramp. “I think it’s still morning here right now. I hope it doesn’t get any warmer.”

“Great, I’m going to find sand in by boots for weeks now too.” Corin grumbles. He’s spent a lot of his life on a cold, snowy planet with harsh winter conditions all sun revolution long, the first sand planet he visited was somewhat of a novelty, but they lose their charm very quickly.

Zal snorts, and Corin lets him take his arm and lead him into the shade cast by a nearby building. “We wont be here long, you can stay on the ship if you’d like, though I heard that this planet has these really cool worms that live under the sand, they’re exported as fishing bait, if you wanted to see them we could-”

“No thanks.” Corin might stay on the ship though. Sitting under the air conditioning vent sounds rather tempting.

“There’s a really good marketplace here,” Zal tries again, stepping in front of Corin to get his attention properly. “Do you wanna go check it out with me?”

“Marketplace?” Corin pauses. He wanted to pick up some datapads on 219-RJ3, he’s never had his own before, and the idea of being able to download whatever knowledge he wanted, and would just be able to see it? At his own convenience? It feels like a lifetime ago he was taught how to repair a datapad, if he got a faulty or broken one for a cheap price, Corin’s confident he could fix it up to work how he wanted it to. “I’d like to do that, if there’s time? Is the scrap good here?”

“Pff, yeah, of course! Woah wait, scrap? Can you tell scrap apart? Can you fix things? Our heater is broken, could you take a look at it? I’ll pay you if you can!”

“How can you think about a heater right now. Is it not warm enough?” Corin looks back at the ship, hoping to see one of the twins or maybe Anena, anyone who could cast him a lifeline. Of course they absconded as soon as they could. “I can take a look, though I won’t make any promises, I haven’t fixed something like that before.”

“You’re a life saver!” Zal latches onto his arm properly now. It’s been a while since he’d had so much physical contact with someone (not since his squad was alive, to be specific), but he doesn’t mind Zal’s enthusiasm. “C’mon, let’s make it quick, everyone will be mad if we hang around here too long.”

After Corin operates on Zal’s broken heater, he gives a good prognosis, and assures Zal of a speedy recovery if they can find the scrap they need.

Corin holds up one of the worn coils from the machine and tells him to be on the lookout for a matching piece, without all the rust and discolouration though.

Zal rolls his eyes, claiming he knows what a simple coil looks like, but still takes the broken piece from Corin and pockets it. Just in case.

They leave the cargo ship in the hands of the dock crew and their droids, Corin letting Zal lead the way along the city’s main street to the marketplace. Zal fills the silence, chatting about nothing important, but it still keeps Corin entertained as always with his wild hand movements and unbelievable stories about last time he was here with the crew.

“Three of them Cerr, right on top of our ship! And then Ane, she’s so strong, climbed up herself and faught them all off by herself! Everyone clapped, it was amazing!”

Corin finds it easier to relax around Zal now, he’s toned down than when they initially met, or many Corin has just gotten used to him. They make a good combination, their conversations easier and less one sided than before now that Corin has warmed up to him.

Corin likes people, but it reminds him of how he misses the closeness of his squad, he misses being able to depend on others, and in turn be depended on.

He likes people, but the opportunities he has to get to know any are few and far between.

Corin’s caught up in his own thoughts when Zal tugs on his arm to get his attention. They’re now standing under the tall archway at the entrance of the marketplace. Corin hadn’t even realised they’d arrived.

“We’ll meet back at the ship if we get separated. We’re here until the refueling is done but we won’t leave without you, so if we get split up, let’s both look for parts and meet back later, ok?”

“Alright, but don’t buy any parts without checking with me first, you’ll probably get ripped off.” Corin only half means it, he’s truly unsure what Zal is liable to get himself into.

“Don’t worry,” Zal gives Corin a thumbs up. “I’ll dock the difference out of your pay.” He winks, and Corin smacks him lightly over the head.

The marketplace is not like the market square he had pictured, it was more of a strip market, with stalls lining either side of the street with space in the middle for people to walk up and down. Or there should be space in the middle for them to walk down, but the street is a sea of bodies. Saying that it’s really crowded, is a gross understatement. Either there’s some sort of sale on, or whatever is being sold here is just that good.

At least there’s a canopy strung up above the market street to provide shade, Corin can’t imagine having to suffer through being stuck between all those bodies under the glaring sun.

It’s almost overwhelming, the bright colours of the stalls, the smells of all the different food being cooked and served as soon as you step into the street, and the noise, Corin doesn’t know how he didn’t hear it from back at the ship. It’s all yelling, from vendors advertising their wares to customers arguing at price points and trying to haggle their way to a better deal.

Corin would much prefer to turn and head back to the ship, he doesn’t like crowds, too much to watch at once.

Zal doesn’t seem phased in the slightest by the overflowing mass of people, and practically drags Corin along the first couple of stalls, both having to shuffle through the crowd. Corin would leave, but he doesn’t want to leave Zal unsupervised, for lack of a better term.

“Do you collect anything?” Zal asks making conversation while they walk. It’s hard to hear him over the crowd, but they’re sticking close enough to be able to chat, only having to raise their voices a little. “If you stick around with us I’ll share my shelf with you, it’s the biggest on the ship, the twins won’t touch your stuff either!”

“I used to collect books.” Corin turns his head back to reply, keeping his eyes on the stalls to they pass, standing on his tippy toes to see over people’s heads. “Too heavy to carry around though.”

“That’s cool! My parents used to read to me when I was growing up, I liked this book about a bug who was always hungry, do you have a favourite like that?”

“I... don’t remember the name of it,” Corin frowns. His mother used to read to him. He’s sure of that, he remembers her voice and-, “My mother read to me, but it... it was a long time ago.”

“Maybe you can write to your home, or send a hologram, and ask for some of the names? Then we can start collecting them and--”

“No.” Corin tries not to flinch at the mention of home or family. “I don’t have any contact with any of my relatives, the only ones I knew are dead anyway.” Even if they weren’t, Corin wouldn’t want anything to do with them anyway.

“Oh,” Zal’s face drops, putting a hand on Corin’s shoulder, “I’m sorry-- for your loss, I didn’t mean to bring up-”

“It’s fine.” Corin shrugs and Zal’s hand falls off of his shoulder. Corin doesn’t wait for him before moving on to the next stall.

Corin appreciates the sentiment, he knows Zal didn’t mean to dredge up that old chestnut, it was a long time ago, it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make his stomach flip in that angry, spiteful way when he thinks of his father and uncle. It shouldn’t make him sad to think of his mother, who was just as trapped as he had been. It was a long time ago in a different life that is no longer his. It’s not his to feel any particular way about at all actually.

“Maybe I’ll recognise a book if I see the name. Let me know if you see any?” It’s a pathetic peace offering, but it’s all Corin can must up to let Zal know he hasn’t taken it to heart.

“R-right!” Zal nods, smile back on his face. He jogs to catch up with Corin. “Do you want to hear about the time Anena and I went surfing on Eskappn?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me about it anyway.” Corin snorts.

“Yeah, but this one is a really good!”

The cover a good stretch of the market like this. Corin rummaging through piles of scrap while Zal does his best to distract him by making up ridiculous names for the parts Corin takes interest in.

The vendor would attempt to politely correct Zal on the name each time, but any explanation fell on deaf ears. Corin did his best to seem exasperated, it was causing them to spend longer than strictly necessary browsing and picking out pieces, but he couldn’t tell if Zal was being serious or not and it make it all the more amusing.

“Ah, yes, a turbo wrinkle bulb light refractor detector line, I’m quite familiar, what exquisite condition.” It was a strip of LEDs. A clearly broken strip of LEDs.

By the time they reach the end of the line of scrap stalls, they’ve picked up all the parts Corin needs for his datapad project. They’re only missing the replacement coil for the heater, and then they can call their trip a resounding success.

The market has filled out even more as the day has pushed itself into the afternoon, as if it wasn’t already busy enough. It’s getting increasingly difficult to elbow their way to the front of a stall, and Corin was working hard enough before, having to shove his way to the front, and then grab Zal and pull him in front of him so they can both see what’s for sale.

Zal insisted that he doesn’t mind standing back and waiting, but Corin sees the sad look on his face when he haggles without him there, so Corin makes an effort to only look at the less crowded stalls.

There doesn’t seem to be any good stalls left, the mid to end sections of the market, from what Corin can tell, look like they exclusively deal with selling livestock. There’s stalls and stalls of creatures displayed in cages, tied against posts, or locked up in small pens. It’s the busiest (and loudest) part of the market, the shouting from the market’s patrons mixing with the noise from the animals, yeah Corin’s going to pass.

He spent weeks working on a farm shortly after he escaped the Empire. He’s used to working with animals and the smells that comes with them, but there’s not a chance Corin is going to willingly submerge himself in the heavy stench wafting from that end of the market, even if they are missing a part, they’ll just have to without it and put up with the cold.

Corin turns around to Zal. “We should just head... back...” The space previously occupied by Zal has been overrun by unfamiliar faces, and Corin finds himself surrounded by strangers and no Zal. Well, at least they prepared for being separated.

He can’t have gone far, but it’s hard to see anyone over all the people, and even harder to hear anyone.

Corin wades his way to the side of the street to stand out of the crowd, it’s unbearable to be stuck in between so many bodies, there’s only so much the light canopy overhead does for the heat on this planet.

He takes a moment to scan the crowd, trying to spot Zal over the many colourful heads now that he has a moment to breathe, but he’s not the tallest guy out there, and Corin doesn’t really want to draw attention to himself by getting up on top of boxes and yelling out Zal’s name to try to look for him.

Corin wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It can’t be helped, he’ll look for the parts by himself and meet Zal later.

Corin is about to step back into the crowd to fight his way to some stalls, when there’s tugging at the leg of his pants.

Corin looks down, thinking he’s probably snagged his pants leg on a loose nail or something, only to see a small green creature staring up at him.

A small green creature, with big familiar eyes full of tears.

There’s a moment where Corin and the little green being stare at each other, unblinking, before Corin is looking frantically for the child’s guardians, half expecting (and really hoping) to see someone come running for the child who has wandered away.

There’s a lot of races out there that are very particular about their children, he’s hear stories about how even being near one could be seen as a threat or act of aggression, the last thing Corin needs is having to talk his way out of something like that in the middle of the market street.

No one gives even a passing glance to Corin and the child, too occupied with their own business to spare a moment.

He knows that a little kid shouldn’t be out here alone, it’s far too hectic here for someone so small to be without a guardian. It breaks Corin’s hear to see that they’re obviously upset too, with how they cling to his legs and use them to shield themself from the crowd. It must be scary for them.

Corin bends down and picks the child up from under their armpits. He doesn’t really know how to hold a child in general, it might be uncomfortable for them, but it’s better than the alternative of them get battered about and trampled on.

“Hello there,” He doesn’t know if the child even understands him, Corin’s knowledge of languages doesn’t go far beyond Standard, so it’ll have to do. “Are you lost, little one?” He tries again, putting on his best reassuring smile.

The child doesn’t respond other than grabbing tiny fistfuls of Corin’s shirt and burying their face into his shoulder. He can feel a wet patch forming on his shirt and Corin really wishes Zal or Anena were here to help.

He hugs the child to his shoulder, holding them securely with with both arms. There’s nothing worse for a child than getting lost from your parents. The poor thing must have grabbed onto the closest thing possible and hoped for the best.

Corin doesn’t know where to start with going about reuniting the child with their parents, they’re not exactly in a ‘family friendly’ area with lots of infrastructure, he seriously doubts that the market street has a missing children booth he can wait with the child at.

Corin’s first plan is simply to just stay put. The child is small so realistically they can’t have wandered far from their parents with their little legs, but the street is packed with folks of all kinds of races, tall and short alike, and if the child’s parents are as small as the child, they’ll never be able to find Corin over the crowd.

He could try to climb up somewhere a little higher, but the only way of doing that would be climbing on one of the stalls, and that’s not going to happen, all the stalls are made of flimsy wood with a sheet of fabric thrown over the top them. He’d probably hurt himself or the kid if he tried.

He could try to get on top of a building, but not being able to see with the canopy above would be a problem.

Oh kriff, what if the child gets hungry or thirsty? He doesn’t even know what’s safe to let the child have, and god help him if they start crying.

The sniffling against Corin’s shoulder is making him antsy, waiting here, where it’s too loud for the child and too hot for Corin, isn’t helping them.

The best place he can think to go would be the entrance of the market, to the square courtyard where they had come in from. It was far quieter there, at least when they arrived, and if he remembers right, there was also a couple of sheltered spots that Corin could sit with the child and wait at. Maybe Zal will be there too and will know what to do with the child. Wistful thinking at its finest.

“Let’s get you away from here, hey?” Corin keeps the child held close as he pushes his way back through the crowd, trying to keep the child from getting jostled too much.

He’s only able to relax when the crowd peters out closer to the entrance of the market. It’s far quieter here, there’s only a few people along the stalls enjoying the food for sale and chatting amongst themselves.

The child’s face comes away from his shoulder for the first time, Corin can see the red around their eyes. Their drooped ears pick up a little bit after having calmed down, but not enough for Corin to be happy about.

At least the tears have stopped, which is a relief above all else.

“Are you hungry? All those tears must have really taken it out of you, huh?” Corin asks the child softly, walking closer to the food stall he spots.

The child takes particular interest in, of course, the section lined with colour sweets, ranging from soft powdered treats to long sticks of hard candy.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” Corin laughs when the child tries to lean out of his arms and reach for the bags of sweets. “You’re parents will kill me if I hand you back in the middle of a sugar rush.”

Some fruit would be better, or maybe some sort of cooked meat would be safer? Nothing too hard to chew for the kid anyway, it’s have to be something simple. And healthy? Maybe? Certainly not the ration bar in Corin’s back pocket anyway, even he doesn’t want to eat that tasteless thing.

Before Corin can even move on to the next food stall and look for something healthier, the vendor has a small bag of the powdered balls of candy held out in front of Corin.

“No thank you, sorry.” Corin smiles politely, stepping to the side, angling the child away from where they’re reaching out to take the bag.

“For your child.” The old man’s eyes wrinkle at the corners as he smiles at the little one. “They look like they could use something to cheer them up.”

“Oh, no, they’re not-” Corin tries to correct him, but the man is pressing the bag into the child’s arms, not giving him much of a say in the matter. With the way the child takes the bag and holds it close, Corin just knows he’s not getting that off of them any time soon.

“Move along now, lad. There’s paying customers.” The man winks at the two of them, and ushers Corin to move on from the stall.

Corin doesn’t even get a chance to thank the man before he’s busy dealing with his next customer.

Corin opens the bag for the child, picking out a sweet and handing it to them. The child is content to put it in their mouth without question, drooling all over it.

A little messy, but at least they know how to eat it, Corin supposes.

Corin buys a couple of segments of some fruit he recognises from the next stall, and settles with the child on one of the benches outside of the market archway.

Corin keeps the child seated on his lap while they eat, the child sitting back against Corin’s stomach so they can both face the market’s entrance. They sit in silence, only interrupted by the dissatisfied noises the child makes when Corin tears off a piece of his fruit to hand to them in between the pieces of candy.

Corin has to wipe the child’s face every so often with the back of his shirt sleeve, they’re not the most graceful eater, but Corin doesn’t mind it, he’s just glad to see the child isn’t too distressed to eat.

Looking at the child, Corin isn’t sure where he recognises them from, maybe from one of the holovideos Zal showed him, there had been an episode of some show about the galaxy’s most reclusive societies, it would make sense then why Corin can’t put his finger on the name of the race.

After half of the bag, Corin ties it back up and hands them the last fruit piece. “I don’t think you should have any more sweets, what will your parents say?” The child looks up at Corin, then back to where they had their gaze fixed on the market entrance and lets out a little sigh. “Yeah, I hope so too.”

Corin doesn’t know what he’ll do if the kid’s parents don’t show.

Now that they’re done eating, Corin doesn’t know what to do to keep the child’s mind off of their situation. Unlike Zal, he’s not a very good story teller, not that he’d know what kind of stories to tell children. All Corin’s stories are from his Empire days with his crew, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that none of those are particularly child friendly.

Instead, he keeps the child entertained by showing them some sleight-of-hand tricks he’s picked up from a Quarren he used to work with.

Using a spare credit chip Corin has in his pocket, Corin rolls it across his fingers to get the child’s attention. He then holds in his palm in front of the child for them to see, and closes his fist over the chip.

He shakes his hand quickly, and then opens his fists again, his palms now empty. The child leans forward, putting this hand on Corin’s palm, checking the child isn’t still there but just invisible somehow.

Corin, with a flourish, then pull the credit chip out from behind the child’s ear, holding it in his palm again to show the child that it had somehow gotten there! As if by magic!

The child squeals with delight, reaching for the now reappeared chip in Corin’s hands. Corin lets the child pick it up and inspect it. Corin repeats the same trick, pretending to find the credit chip from behind the child’s other ear the next time, and then asking the child to open their mouth, and acting as if he had found it there too.

The peals of laughter that Corin was able to get from the child was enough reassureance he needed to know that he’s doing a good job keeping the child happy while they waited.

The market starts to empty out while Corin is in the middle of another trick, a steady stream of people leaving the market breaking the child’s attention from watching Corin’s tricks. Whatever auction that was on must have ended, the increase of people makes Corin hold the child a little bit closer to him.

The child watches each person who leaves the market, and Corin watches the child’s ears drop incrementally as each person that they don’t recognise leaves the market. He’s getting worried that the child might cry again and Corin doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that well.

Emergency plan B then. Corin goes to untie the bag to the child’s sweets, hoping to distract them from looming abandonment with more sugar. It would have worked on Corin when he was younger anyway.

He has his hand in the bag when there’s a commotion at the market’s entrance that catches his attention before he can hand the child a sweet.

Those who were making their way out of the market at a leisurely pace now are practically throwing themselves to the edge of the street and out of the way out of the figure that comes barrelling out and into the square.

Corin sees them stop just after the entrance of the market, people give them a wide berth, maybe Corin should move somewhere further away too. It is rather strange though, who wears a full set of armour to go to the market? And in such warm weather too. It must be unbearable in this heat, Corin’s certainly glad that’s not him.

He’s about to pick up the child and go to sit at the other end of the square, until the child squirms in his arms, reaching towards the strange armoured person at the market entrance.

That’s weird? Corin looks back up towards them, maybe the child likes shiny things and, wait--.

Wait.

Corin recognises the armour style, it’s very obviously Mandalorian craftsmanship, and there's a moment where the bottom of Corin's stomach drops out and he thinks _'They're here for_ me', but Corin _recognises_ the armour.

The Mandalorian looks very familiar.

And the child... Corin had thought they looked familiar too.

Oh.

Ohhhhhhh.

The realisation hits Corin like a Hutt over the head.

The Mandalorian from Roquimn, it’s the same one, Corin’s sure of it. He can’t see it clearly, but the little mark on their shoulder pauldron looks identical.

Meaning this is the same child, the Mandalorian’s child.

Corin scrambles to stand, gathering the child up in his arms to as he jogs to the entrance of the market. “Hey!” Corin calls, waving one arm as much as he can while holding the child to get the Mandalorian’s attention. “Hey, Mando!”

The Mandalorian’s helmet whips to Corin, and when he sees the child in Corin’s arms, all the tension he’s radiating visibly melts from him. There’s no doubt in Corin’s mind that it’s the same Mandalorian when they rush to meet him rather than shooting him for running at him.

Corin hands the child to the Mandalorian as soon as they’re within arms each, who gurgles happily at seeing their parent again, grabbing at the corner of the Mandalorian’s breastplate.

“They found me in the market, around the stalls with those birds, you two must have gotten separated there.” Corin says, fretting only a little while the Mandalorian check the child over to make sure they’re ok. “Sorry we didn’t wait there, we couldn’t see anyone over the crowd and they were getting upset.”

“Thank you.” The Mandalorian says to Corin more sincerely than anyone ever has, and Corin has to duck his head to fight a blush off of his face.

Corin doesn’t know what to say with the Mandalorian and the child looking at him like that. He’s uncomfortable with being thanked, he didn’t do anything special.

Corin really wants to apologise for last time they met, he doubts there’d be much of a point though, the Mandalorian probably doesn’t even remember him.

“These are the kid’s,” Corin hold out the half eaten bag of candy for the Mandalorian to take. “I gave him some fruit too, so if they get a sugar rush please, don’t blame me.” The child makes a grab for it, but the Mandalorian remains unmoving, their helmet pointed at the bag Corin holds out.

Corin’s half tempted to take his hand back, throw the sweets as far as he can and make a run for it. With how quickly the child was inhaling the sweets, Corin should have known the Mandalorian must have something against his kid having them. Tricked by that cute little face.

The Mandalorian surprised Corin when he reaches forward and takes the bag from him, holding it up to the child and letting them hold it in their hands. “They respond to he.”

“Excuse me?” Corin raises an eyebrow, looking back up at the Mandalorian confused.

“The kid,” The Mandalorian gestures with a nod of the helmet to the child, who is now sucking on another sweet. How did they get the bag open so quickly while Corin wasn’t watching? “He responds to he, or that’s what he likes the best anyway.”

Corin blinks a few times. The Mandalorian phrased that weirdly, and Corin can’t help but blurt. “You named your child ‘He’?”

“What?” The Mandalorian’s head snaps back to his face, “No, I’m saying-”

“Sorry, uhm, bad joke.” Corin coughs, he can feel his face burning. “Thank you for telling me. You should keep a better eye on him though, he seems like the type for mischief.” Corin smiles reassuringly, reaching out to smooth down the child’s wispy hair.

“You could say that.” The Mandalorian grumbles, adjusting the child in his arms and taking the open sweet bag from him.

Corin shifts from foot to foot, he’s glad the child is ok, but now he has to worry about his missing crewmate. He doesn’t think Zal would leave him behind, but he’d feel a lot better getting back to the ship, or taking another go at finding Zal in the market.

“I better get going, I’m sure you’re really busy with, um, you know.” Corin is making this awkward again isn’t he. “I’ll, uh, see you around?” It’s perhaps not a great choice of words, it was strange enough that they’d meet for a second time, but the Mandalorian nods anyway. “Stay out of trouble for your dad, ok?” Corin wiggles his finger at the child.

The child grabs for Corin’s finger, babbling incoherently, and Corin takes as a promise to do just the opposite.

Corin’s stepping away from the pair when he spots Zal running up from the other end of the market square. “Cerr!” Corin doesn’t get much notice to brace for impact as Zal throws himself at him, knocking him back a few steps. “I thought you were going to disappear on me! I went back to the ship after we got separated, but the others said you hadn’t been back so I got so worried! What happened? Why didn’t you come back?”

“Sorry, I was just waiting with-” Corin looks back to the Mandalorian, only to find him and the child nowhere to be seen. “...Nevermind, sorry, I guess I forgot.”

“Stop apologising, it’s fine! See? Look what I found.” Zal hands Corin, surprisingly, the right type of coil they needed to fix the heater. The shock must show on his face, because Zal just laughs at his lack of response and grabs Corin’s arm again. “Anena wants to leave ASAP, let’s get back before she loses her patience with us, or she’ll bar us from using her caf machine.”

It’s a shame they didn’t get to look around the rest of stalls properly, but Corin is sure Zal has an exciting story about what Corin missed when they got separated.

Before they round the corner of the square, Corin can’t help but look back, hoping to see the Mandalorian and the child one last time. Just to see that they’re ok, one last time.

They’ll be fine as long as they have each other.

It must be nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello againe team!
> 
> sorry for the delay, i had uni exams, then the ranked season rolled over in a lot of games that i play, jungle differential and all that, if you know you know
> 
> next parts are more fun i promise!! things are gonna be long but isnt that more fun! big smooches to all of u, thank you for reading, leaving comments kudos bookmarks views, you have no clue how much it makes my day, i love you, you right there, in particular


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gang!  
> ive never really wrote anything like this before, so im not really sure what im doing, but im having fun so i hope you do too!  
> good news is that next chapter was gonna be this chapter, but i decided to do this instead, so hey, next chapter is almost done!!  
> (if u see typpos pls let me know bc im not gonna lie im kinda sick of looking at this so it is humbly on ur webpage in this state)  
> glhf

It’s after word gets to Corin about the explosion on Skanplar-01 that uncovered a planetary wide Empire strip mining operation does he realise that he’s not doing enough.

Corin can’t believe his own complacency.

He knows what the Empire has done, and what they’re likely still doing. The scars from their reign of terror across the galaxy are plain for all to see. Groups of people and entire races left without a home, parents still searching for lost children, levelled cities and mass graves...

Corin was a part of that.

Even if he was a small, insignificant cog in a larger machine, he still helped turn that wheel of destruction.

The Empire hasn’t stopped, Corin knows this, and yet he’s not doing enough.

He’s not the only person in the galaxy with regrets, but the amount of guilt that piling up, it’s becoming too much.

What is he thinking, playing pretend with people who would sooner see him full of blaster holes than give him a job and a roof over his head if they knew what he has done.

He’s been too soft on himself, taking too many easy jobs when there’s a lot more he could do.

It's a little funny that his biggest motivator is spite, worrying, but hey if it works.

The names and faces of those the Empire has scattered around the galaxy hasn’t changed since their ‘fall’ from power. Those who funded, or still fund the Empire haven’t just miraculously realised the error of their ways, he's seen proof of that first hand with some of the bounty pucks he's been offered.

But he could do more, and he certainly could do better.

Those who made their fortunes off of others hard work and suffering don’t deserve a graceful exit at the curtain call.

Margarah Darnaf, being one of those people.

He was on Corin’s list to get to eventually, but now seems like a good time to skip a couple of names.

It was years ago now that Corin had been assigned onto a squad to escort Darnaf for a short stint of time. Nothing exciting, just tasked with standing around and looking menacing while Darnaf was visiting their base. As expected, it was a perfectly revolting experience for all involved. Darnaf made it clear that he found it very amusing to make performances (read: beat the living daylights) out of his attendants (read: slaves) in front of Corin’s unit.

Corin was young then, fresh out of the academy, it was long before he had been promoted to a snow trooper, but it had stuck with him. Who could look at a blatant a power trip from a slave trader and spice dealer and think ‘this is right’.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no bounty puck for Darnaf, but Corin’s steps for finding him aren’t didn't involve one anyway. It’s no secret that Darnaf owns half of the most popular and exclusive clubs on BNT-1 and Naralalta, and spends his time jumping from each to each on a weekly basis, flaunting his wealth and power at each stop. All Corin had to do is get hired in one of the clubs and wait for Darnaf to arrive.

He doesn’t see the point in working the fine details prior to arriving on BNT-1, nothing he does ever works out as planned for him anyway, but even so he’s not happy to find out that working in Darnaf’s club was a much better idea on paper than in practice.

The worst part is all the people.

Corin admits that he has never excelled greatly in large social situations. Back in the army, it was frowned upon for them to interact with anyone outside their unit that weren’t their superiors. No one really followed those rules when there was no one around to enforce them, but it meant that very few opportunities in general presented themselves for Corin to grow is social skills.

Being out in the galaxy has helped, he’s forced to adapt and learn how to put up with unfiltered sights and sounds, idle conversation and overcrowded areas. But bars and clubs are a completely different territory to anything Corin has learned to deal with so far, and not in a good way.

Being a bystander in a club is fine, Corin finds a ‘quiet’ corner or empty booth and gets on with whatever business brought him there. Quick in, quick out, no need for him to hang around longer than necessary with the sweaty crowds, flashing lights, and loud music.

Being in clubs for those short encounters was not something Corin enjoyed, and so working in one might just be the worst experience he’s has had since defecting from the Empire

And that’s no small statement, he’s been mugged and beaten within an inch of his life on several fun-filled occasions.

There’s a short line of people who want to be hired to work for Darnaf, and that pool narrows even more when you take into account the fact that he only lets humans work in his clubs. Maybe because he doesn’t pay his staff, and actually, it’s safe to presume the majority of the people there aren’t given a choice whether or not they work there either. Why pay for labour when you can get it for free?

The easiest part is sneaking into the next group of ‘workers’ that arrive on the planet and playing dumb until he lands himself in the back of house, washing dishes and cleaning glasses.

It doesn’t last, as Corin’s bad luck always gets tangled up with his bad decisions along the way, and on his first night he spends a whole twenty minutes washing dishes before the floor manager is shoving a bundle of fabric in his arms and telling him to get into uniform, go to the front bar and start serving drinks.

As is the same with much else in the galaxy, it’s learn fast or die.

One of the barmen introduces himself to Corin as Inochi, and gives Corin the rundown on his tasks for the night while he’s changing into the thin white shirt and black slacks he was given.

Be polite, serve drinks quick and efficiently- but don’t rush, collect empty glasses from tables- but leave enough to remind patrons that they need another drink, do not drop anything, smile at all times, engage with patrons but don’t dawdle, don’t speak unless spoken to, and for Corin’s own sake, try not to attract attention to himself.

Corin doesn’t need to ask why, they’re both aware of the sort of people this place attracts.

Darnaf’s clubs aren’t known for their worker-friendly environments and upstanding patrons. Every night the club is packed with wanted criminals, spice sellers, Imperial supporters... People Corin would either like to stay very far away from, or use as target practice.

It’s bad enough when these people are sober, adding alcohol into the equation only makes them worse. They make sure to live up to their reputations alright.

Corin hates having to endure the lecherous gazes he and the rest of the staff draw, it shows that these people really don’t care what they’re looking at, just so long as it moves and smiles at them.

He thought it wouldn’t be too bad at first, the other wait staff are mostly girls, and very pretty ones at that. It’s an awful thought, but he had hoped they’d keep the attention of the masses, and Corin would be able to coast by and keep out of trouble. He’s nothing special to look at in comparison to the rest of the staff here.

But everything about the place makes Corin’s skin crawl.

It’s a means to an end he repeats to himself, and it will be worth it when he’s done here, but it doesn’t make him feel any less vulnerable when he’s carrying trays full of drinks across the dance floor past people who cant keep their hands to themselves.

Even if the people weren’t the problem, Corin can barely hear himself think over the deafeningly loud music that reverberates through the walls and floor of the building. They give the staff a single earpiece so they can communicate with each other across the floor but they’re barely functional. Any communication they do is ten percent listening, and ninety percent attempting to mouth-reading-- which has an extra layer of difficulty added from the strobe lights around the dance floor.

They’re always beyond busy and tonight is no exception, lots of voices shouting their orders for drinks over music playing louder than Corin thinks is necessary.

He’s behind the bar refilling bottle taps along the wall when Inochi pulls him to the front counter and shoves a tray into his hands.

“Quickly,” Inochi says, placing glasses full of colourful bubbling liquids onto the tray. “These three to floor two room sixteen, these two to room seven.”

“Wait, hold on." Corin grabs Inochi’s hand to stop him before he gets carried away. "Those are Myrella’s rooms, she should be running them.” The servers are stretched thinly enough, he’s not even supposed to be on the ground floor right now. He's assigned to the upper floors of the building tonight, specifically the third floor, and there's not much room for deviations.

“Tsk, just take them Ren,” Inochi glares at him, and continues placing glasses on the tray despite Corin’s grip. “Myrella is busy, don’t be difficult.”

“We’re all busy, she'll just have to...” Inochi takes Corin’s head in his hands and turns it up to look at the balcony above. He trails off when he spots Myrella outside one of the private rooms, she might be smiling and laughing but he can see a hand around her wrist, trapping here there. Corin doesn’t need to hear what’s being said up there to know he doesn’t envy Myrella right now. “Fine, but I can only do one tray.”

Inochi nods, letting go of his head and Corin helps pile the tray high with the different glasses. He ends up with way more orders to deliver out than originally agreed upon, be he doesn’t want to see Myrella in trouble for not running orders when it’s out of her control.

The second and third floor aren't much different to each other, both being comprised of private rooms available for patrons to book and use at their own leisure. The spiral staircase beside the bar leads up to the balconies on each floor, so he's not entirely put out by the detour, but he doesn’t have time to hang around either.

By the time Corin gets upstairs, half of the drinks have spilled over the rims of the glasses due to his careless balancing of the tray. He’ll listen to the complaints about it later from Inochi or the floor manager, he’s more focused on the fact that he's been radioed twice to get to the third floor before he’s even taken one step off of the staircase and onto the second floor.

The doors to each of the private rooms slide open automatically at his approach, and he makes a point not to linger at in rooms or tables when he drops drinks off. He keeps his head down, not wanting to look inside the rooms any more than he has to. He doesn’t want to see something he shouldn’t, for his own sanity.

Each time the doors close behind him, the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease. He can’t let himself relax. Even when the club closes at 5am and the staff are permitted to go back to their rooms and sleep, Corin can’t let his guard down knowing what kind of people surround him.

It would be just Corin’s luck that the room Myrella was stuck standing outside of is one of the ones that Corin needs to serve drinks to.

She’s gone from where she had been standing before, but the light along to top of the room's door is red, indicating whoever was in there earlier hasn’t left yet, and they don’t want to be disturbed. Corin doesn’t have a choice but to wait outside the door for either the DND light to turn off, or wait for his patience to run dry at which point he'll leave the drinks on the floor beside the door and move on. The tracklist is the same every night, but at least the one that plays while he waits is one Corin likes. Small mercies.

He's just about to leave when the DND light flicks off with a click, and door slides open, a handful of humans filter out.

He makes the mistake of looking up, but seeing the men’s faces and their dark expression make Corin look away again. Even with his head down, he can see how they turn to look at him as they pass by.

Corin waits until they’re far enough away before looking up again and then knocking on the door to the private room.

He’s genuinely surprised when the door slides open to reveal Myrella standing on the other side of the glass, and any hope he had to avoid interaction dies spectacularly.

Maybe she won’t--

“Rin!” Myrella’s high voice cuts over the noise of the club.

Nevermind.

Corin doesn’t outwardly sigh, but he’s very much like to. She seems happier than usual to see him, her usual unimpressed expression replaced with a bright smile. She grabs Corin’s arm and pulls him inside the doorway, making him stumble and almost making him lose his grip on the drinks tray. “You’d never believe the story my Ranna-ra was telling me!”

Corin's face twists into a strained smile.

Ranna-ra? Should he know who that is? He’s never understood the whole ‘celebrity’ thing, you're supposed to just know people you haven't met before? It makes no sense whatsoever.

Myrella makes it sound like he should be impressed at the mention of the name at the very least.

“Oh?” Corin says, tilting his head. He doesn’t want to seem uninterested in front of an important guest, but he can’t help feel a little annoyed that he’s covering for Myrella just so she can listen to some guy spout nonsense in an attempt to impress her and then brag about it. "Sounds fun?"

Corin looks from Myrella to the rest of room, expecting to see more than the one lone human sitting on the couch at the back of the room. Corin must have arrived just as whatever meeting they were having ended, he can clearly see some spike on the low table, and perhaps Myrella’s behaviour is more explainable now.

He didn't mean that kind of fun.

Myrella deems his reaction was a signal to her that now a great time to move behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and push him into the dimly lit room before he’s able to refuse, the door sliding shut behind him.

“Here, let me get that.” Myrella tries to takes the tray out of drinks out of Corin’s hands but he steps back towards the door out of her reach.

“Thank you for your, uh, kindness in allowing me to be in here but I'm very busy with--”

“C’mon Rin, you can spare two minutes.” Myrella pouts, folding her arms. She’s really making it difficult for him, she looks at him with desperation in her eyes, pleading with him to please please stay with her. “It won’t take long, it’s a really good story!” She assures him, holding her hands nervously in front of her.

The human, Ranna-ra, does nothing but watch the two of them, and the two guards that stand just inside the door on either side stare at him and Myrella too. It doesn’t help him feel confident about this situation in the slightest. They look at them like they’re sizing up pieces of meat and it makes his skin crawl.

Corin looks from Ranna-ra to Myrella. He has an idea about why she didn’t leave when everyone else did, and he feels for her, he really does, but did she have to drag him into it whatever this is too?

“I’d love to sit and listen,” Corin musters up his best disappointed smile, “but I can’t leave our guests without drinks.”

“Oh!” Myrella claps her hands together, her frown becomes a wide smile, “I can do that then while you stay and chat!”

_Motherfucker._

“I can’t trouble you like that, I wouldn’t want to intrude on-”

“You seem to have your mind made up.” Ranna-ra speaks up from the back of the room and Corin’s blood turns to ice. “You must think my company must be so poor. It seems my reputation here is considered so low by the staff. What a shame.”

“No-- that’s not--” Corin’s eyes go wide as he tries to back peddle. He looks to Myrella, who is looking at Ranna-ra just as a surprised expression as he has. She’ll be no help to him.

“It’s not?” Ranna-ra stands and steps to stand in front of Corin, sliding an arm around Myrellas waist and pulling her close. “What am I supposed to think then? After all, am I not one of your guests too?”

Corin swallows and nods, not trusting his own voice. He knows not to speak back, he couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to. He’s not blind to the blasters at the hips of the bodyguards behind him. There's a vibroblade strapped against his calf, but he'll never be able to reach for it in time. And even if he could, he doesn’t like his odds right now.

The corners of Ranna-ra lips turn upward. “If it’s not that, then what is it? Is it Myrella?"

"Of course not--"

"It has to be one of the other, no? I'm terribly offended, you know. This has upset me greatly, don’t you think it’s within your best interests to stay a while and clear up this misunderstanding before it goes any further?” He lets go of Myrella and picks up a drink from the tray Corin holds.

He holds Corin’s eye contact while he sips from the glass. Corin is the first to look away, and Ranna-ra makes a pleased noise.

Corin wants to run away as hard and as fast as he can.

It’s phrased as a suggestion, but it’s a very thinly veiled threat. Staff goes ‘missing’ all the time here, no one gives it a second thought when a server doesn’t come back from their break, or a barman doesn’t show up the next day after getting an order wrong.

Corin only cares about keeping his job up until he can get a good shot at Darnaf, but that’s going to become a little bit more difficult if he’s dead.

“And my dear Myre is being so kind too, helping you out.” Ranna-ra continues, turning his back to them and sitting down on the couch and leaning back leisurely. “You’re not going to refuse her generous offer, are you?”

Corin’s eyes flick back to Myrella. She hasn’t moved from the spot where Ranna-ra had left her, her eyes cast down and face sheet white. She looks at the floor with wide eyes, like she’s only now realising just how bad of a spot that they’re both in.

“...No, of course not.” Corin grits out. The room is silent, the only noise being the muffled music of the club from outside the door and the hammering of Corin’s heart.

He holds the tray out to Myrella, who takes it gingerly out of his hands, not even meeting his eyes.

Myrella takes a step towards the door, and looks back to Ranna-ra, as if asking for permission to move. He looks at her with the same sly grin as before, but doesn’t tell her to stop. She looks once more at Corin and then hurries past him, never meeting his gaze.

The door loses behind her and Corin and Ranna-ra are left alone.

“Why don’t you come sit over here with me? You’ll be able to hear better.” Ranna-ra’s sickly sweet smile grows wider, patting the empty space on the couch next to him.

Corin doesn’t move.

He has to get out of here. He has to think of something, any excuse or emergency, anything to get him out of the door and out of this place. He can’t blame Myrella, he shouldn’t have taken the tray from downstairs, he shouldn’t have tried to take this job to begin with. He’ll get to Darnaf another way, he’ll figure something else out, if he could just--

The door slides open behind Corin, and the absence of words is broken.

“It’s done.” A voice says, and Corin doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

What was that saying?

Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence.

Any more than that? It’s not the Force, it’s just downright suspicious.

He’s not imagining or mishearing it, the noise coming in from the still open door might but loud, but he’s sure he knows that steely voice before, muffled by what can only be the speaker of a certain beskar helmet that Corin’s sure he knows the look of.

Ranna-ra takes his eyes off Corin to turn look at their surprise guest, but Corin doesn’t need to turn around to know there’s a Mandalorian standing in the doorway behind him.

“Ahh my friend! Great to see you! I trust that you took care of the issue discretely. _We_ -” Ranna-ra emphasises, sitting forward again and gesturing to Corin. “Were just talking about you. Why don’t you stay and join us.”

There’s a beat of silence and Corin takes a step back to turn and look at the Mandalorian.

He’s never wished so much for someone to have a bounty puck for him.

The Mandalorian’s helmet moves a fraction to look from Ranna-ra to Corin.

Not that Corin wants a Mandalorian to remember him, because he’d rather say off a radar like that, but he’d rather take his chances with the Mandalorian than with Ranna-ra. The longer he stays here the closer he’s treading to actually becoming part of the slave trade, and he’s spent enough of his life being a mindless drone.

“The paymemt.” The Mandalorian’s helmet doesn’t move from Corin, and Corin doesn’t take his eyes off of the Mandalorian either.

“Don’t be like that Mando!” Ranna-ra stands and Corin can hear his footsteps approach. He tries not to flinch when Ranna-ra places a hand on the small of his back, but can’t help keep the grimace off of his face. “Where does someone like you have to be?”

The Mandalorian steps forward into the room and the door finally slides shut.

Corin spots the Mandalorian’s blaster is in it’s holster at his side, almost within Corin’s reach. It's going to be one hell of a desperation play.

“The payment.” The Mandalorian says lowly, and the hair rises on the back of Corin’s neck at the dangerous tone his voice has taken. “As agreed.”

There’s a beat where neither of them speak, and then Ranna-ra tuts. “How boring.” Corin watches out of the corner of his eye as Ranna-ra motions to one of his guards, who holds out a pouch of credits to the Mandalorian. “Now if that’s everything-”

“He’s coming with me.”

Ranna-ra spends a shocked second silent, and Corin can feel four sets of eyes on him.

Despite the situation, Corin wonders where the Mandalorian’s child is.

Hopefully far away from here.

Ranna-ra bursts out laughing, the hand he has on Corin’s back gripping his shirt and yanking him backwards, angling him away from the Mandalorian. “Him?!” Ranna-ra laughs incredulously, snaking his arm around Corin’s waist. “What, you want to take him with you, Mandalorian? I didn’t take you for someone interested in that sort of thing.”

Corin waits for a response, maybe for the Mandalorian to produce a puck with Corin’s face on it, but he says nothing.

Corin glances up to see him and Ranna-ra staring at each other, the same grin on Ranna-ra’s face as before, but harsher now, clearly not as at ease as before. The guards by the door have their hands on their blasters, the tension in the room palpable.

Ranna-ra grip tightens again around Corin, and then shockingly, releases him.

“Of course, of course!” Ranna-ra chuckles and flicks his wrist, making a show of dismissing Corin. “I suppose it’s only fair, you do me a favour, I do you one, yes?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t grace Ranna-ra with any response, instead walking with the same sure and confident steps back out of the room the way he came. The door slides open for him, and Corin doesn’t waste any time jumping into motion and following him out of the room.

He’ll take the carbonite option, thanks.

Corin doesn’t look back to Ranna-ra, but he does he hear the shattering of a glass just as the door closes behind him.

The Mandalorian doesn’t stop when they’re outside as Corin had expected, he just keeps walking along the balcony and down the spiral staircase. Corin doesn’t know whether to follow or not, but he figures wherever the Mandalorian is going is better than here.

Corin has to jog slightly to keep up with the quick pace the Mandalorian sets for them.

He understands, he wants to be out of here as soon as possible too. Even with that helmet of his, it probably doesn’t do much for the noise in here when it’s as loud as it is in here.

Corin expects someone to stop him at the door and tell him he can’t leave, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, they leave through the front entrance without any problems, the crowd parts for the Mandalorian as he walks by.

Corin thinks briefly to his clothes still in his locker and mourns their loss. He can always buy more, but he doesn’t like the idea of having to wear what he has on until then.

Out in the fresh air and silence, the first thing Corin does is rip out his earpiece and throw it as hard as he can.

The nights are freezing cold on this planet, and his uniform does nothing to keep him warm, but it’s better than being in there.

He doesn’t know what time it is, but it must be late in the night if the line to get into the club has thinned out to a handful of stragglers, anyone who’s going to get in for the night already long inside.

The Mandalorian doesn’t pause now that they’re outside, nor does he even look Corin’s way when he keeps following close behind him.

They walk a small way down the dust street until the Mandalorian stops mid stride and turns to look Corin, who’s struggling to keep up and wrestle off his tie at the same time.

“You don’t have to follow me.”

Corin takes a second to throw his tie to the ground and unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt so he can breathe properly before replying. “Oh. That's good." That clears that up? He can feel a smile creeping onto his face. It's good to know that Carbonite is off the menu. "Thank you for helping me then. You didn’t have to do that.”

The Mandalorian turns around, his back to Corin. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Somewhere.. to go?” Corin smile slips of his face, and he hesitates. What is he going to do now? He thinks to his death trap of a ship he used his small fortune of credits on, and where he left it covered up in the forest outside of town. Sure he could go back to that and look at some starmaps, but where would he even go? His mind was so set on Darnaf, he hasn’t had a chance to think of what he wants to do next.

Corin looks down at his hands, expecting to see them covered in red.

If he’s honest, he wants to see Darnaf dead more than ever now.

The Mandalorian’s helmet turns back to Corin at his lack of response. His posture is oddly tense, hesitating before taking a step forward towards Corin.

“If you wanted, you could-”

The Mandalorian isn’t allowed to finish his sentence before a blaster shot fires from behind them, and hits the ground between them.

“There he is!” A voice yells in the distance, and another blaster shot bounces off of the Mandalorian’s armour.

Well, that could be for either of them.

Corin and the Mandalorian separate in opposite directions, each diving behind the closest cover they can find as more shots fire at them, falling short just in front of their feet.

Blaster fire whizzes over Corin head, as he scrambles to get behind a stack of wooden boxes. He sticks his head above the boxes to try to get a look at their attackers. His money is on stormtroopers or bounty hunters, but he's not able to get a good look with the shots that clip the top of the boxes the moment he pops out, wood splinters flying everywhere, making him duck back down.

Corin looks to see the Mandalorian pressed against a wall behind a corner of one of the alleyways close by. The Mandalorian lifts the strap of his amban rifle over his head and begins returning shots down the street.

Corin doesn’t know who these people are, or if they’re here for him or the Mandalorian, but he’s not about to sit around just to find out. He feels useless, watching the Mandalorian draw the brunt of the fire has to move out from his cover to return fire.

Corin sees one or two of them vaporise when the Mandalorian's shots connect, but it’s not enough. There must be ten or twelve of them with how much they’re firing, and their yells and taunts are growing louder and louder as they close the distance between them.

“Throw me your blaster!” Corin yells across the street, cursing as another shot flies over him, just above his head.

“Can you shoot?” The Mandalorian yells back, firing his rifle with one hand while unhooking his blaster from its holster.

“No, I’m going to throw it! Yes I can shoot!”

The Mandalorian looks at him, pausing in firing his rifle. Corin knows that he’s pissed the Mandalorian off, but Corin’s thankful that he kicks his blaster across the street to him anyway. They’re more likely to get out of this alive if they’ve two people firing back.

The blaster slides just shy of Corin’s cover. He darts out from behind the boxes to snatch it up from the ground, and only just gets back behind them as a flurry of shots hit the ground where he was moments before.

Remember your training, don’t get distracted, one wrong move and you die here Corin.

Corin breathes in slowly to steady his rapid pulse, and then lines up his shot.

It quickly becomes apparent that even with them both firing back, this isn’t working. For every one Corin or the Mandalorian hit, two more take their place. Whoever they are, they’re really determined to kill them. At least it’s something familiar for Corin, he’s more at ease being pinned down by blaster fire than he was back at the club.

But they need a different, and Corin needs to think, but with the unrelenting blaster fire and his disintegrating cover, there’s not a spare moment to do that. Corin doesn’t know how long this blaster is going to work without jamming, and the Mandalorian has to be running out of rifle ammo too.

“Hey!” The Mandalorian calls out, breaking Corin's concentration. The Mandalorian holds up some small round devices in his hand for Corin to see. “Split up, I’ll find you after!” The Mandalorian’s fist closes around them, making them light. up red. He throws his handful of devices down the street towards their attackers.

Wait, were those detonators?

The Mandalorian is sprinting down the alleyway away from the street before Corin is able to question it, which makes Corin think that maybe he should be doing the same.

Corin can hear the street explodes into fire and screaming, but he doesn’t stop running. The Mandalorian has a plan, so he keeps running.

He has to believe that the Mandalorian is going to keep his word and come back for him.

Or at the very least, come back for his blaster.

So he keeps running, running around corners and down alleyways until he can’t hear shouting or blaster shots anymore, and then keeps running until he realises that he’s ran to the edge of town.

Corin kneels on the ground, dust and grime coating his pants. He shouldn’t have ran so far, there’s still people out there looking for them both, Corin knows not to leave any loose threads behind him, and the Mandalorian can’t deal with them all on his own, even if he is a Mandalorian.

He... he should go back.

He retraces his steps as quickly as he can, he knows he shouldn’t return to the same street as before, not knowing who is still lurking around, but he’s careful with his movements, making sure to stay out of the light cast by the street lights.

It’s an odd sight.

Any bodies that were on the street before have been removed, and only the scorch marks from the fire fight remain. Even the street lights that must have been knocked down in the blast are moved to the side of the street.

Corin steps out cautiously crosses the street. He feels very uneasy, there isn't a single soul on either end of the street, no vehicles or emergency services come to check for injured people after the shootout and explosion.

It can't mean anything good.

Corin stands in front of the alleyway the Mandalorian had disappeared down.

He had said he’d find Corin, and he doesn’t doubt that, but there’s too many unknowns for Corin to sit around and wait.

He tries to follow what he hopes are the Mandalorian’s footprints left in the dirt, sticking close to the walls as he jogs as silently as possible down the streets and alleyways, checking what’s behind every corner before progressing forward.

It’s not long before he can hear voices and the sounds of a scuffle. Corin keeps low, pressing close to the wall as he sticks his head out as far as he dares to take a glimpse towards where the voices are coming from.

The Mandalorian didn’t make it as far as Corin did it seems. Their attackers must have planned for them to run for it, and had set up a perimeter to catch them beforehand, Corin must have slipped by on sheer dumb luck.

By Corin’s count, there’s five humans and one Rodian in total that stand around where the Mandalorian is kneeling on the ground in the middle of the street, illuminated by a flickering streetlight. His hands are bound behind his back by a pair of vibrocuffs, and a blaster pointed at the back of his head..

Less than he expected, but still more than he had hoped for.

Corin can tell he at least put up a fight, with the broken arm one of the men is clutching, and the obvious limp another is trying to conceal.

Corin hates to say it, but he thinks he knows some of those the faces.

He knows Ranna-ra was angry before, but whatever work the Mandalorian did for him must have yielded poor results, judging by the treatment that he’s getting from the men that Corin had seen come out of that room prior.

Corin can’t make out what they’re saying from where he’s hiding, but the conversation makes one of them laugh and kick the Mandalorian in his gut, making him keel forward.

The Rodian shoves one of the humans in the shoulder, and points off down the opposite end of the street, and Corin watches as two of the humans follow the Rodian to the end of the street and around the corner, out of sight.

Corin leans back against the wall and takes a deep breath.

He could just walk away.

This could end very badly for him.

He should just leave the Mandalorian be, he’s gotten out of worse before, right? He saw what happened to those troopers back on Roquimn.

Corin shouldn’t interfere, their business is with the Mandalorian, not him.

He wants to leave and get far, far away.

But he knows he’s not going to.

Corin grips his borrowed blaster and peeks around the corner again.

There’s only three humans left, lightly armoured, weapons holstered, other than the one who aims their blaster at the Mandalorian.

He has a small window. He has to fire three lethal shots in that crucial moment of surprise he has.

If he misses, or isn’t quick enough, and they have time to draw their weapons... It won’t end well.

Right.

It’s do or die.

Corin pushes himself off of the wall and swigs around the corner, aiming his first shot. As he moves, his foot it catches on some stray piece of mental, and his accidental kick sends it clattering across the alley, along with any semblance of the element of surprise he had.

The men grab for their weapons, and Corin is only able to take out one of the men before they remaining ones are yelling and firing back at him before he can get back around the corner to cover.

Corin doesn’t need to look down to know that they had traded his shot for a hit of their own. He knows what a blaster wound feels like, the sharp pain that radiates from his outer thigh and the smell of burning flesh.

While the remaining two are occupied firing shots that chip away at the concrete of the wall, the Mandalorian takes the distraction to spring into action from where he had been on the ground, rolling over and using his legs to knock the man closest to him off balance, making his fall to the ground.

Corin can feel his leg threaten to give out, he has to be quick. He leans out around the corner again and fires off another two shots in quick succession at the only figure left standing, one hitting their shoulder, and the other hitting their neck, and the figure crumples to the ground.

Corin’s vaguely aware of the blaster shot that had grazed his arm as payment for coming out from behind cover to take the shots, but the burn mark is dull compared to how his leg feels.

The last one the Mandalorian had knocked down recovers, and Corin fires one more shot at him before he can raise his blaster, and they fall back to the floor again.

Corin hobbles over to the Mandalorian as quickly as his leg allows him, and helps the Mandalorian into a sitting position.

“Keys?” Corin asks, and the Mandalorian nods towards one of the bodies.

It hurts to crouch down to search the man’s pockets, but he’s too tired to care. Corin loots the key for the vibrocuffs off the body and makes quick work of unlocking the cuffs around the Mandalorian’s wrists and tosses them to the side.

Corin offers the Mandalorian a hand up to help him stand, but is ignored. The Mandalorian pushes himself up off of his knees by himself and collects his rifle from one of the bodies. Corin hadn’t even noticed it slung over one of their shoulders.

“The rest will be back soon.” Corin says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He’s beginning to feel light-headed now that the burst of adrenaline is dying. He can feel the blood dripping down his leg, and oh yeah, blood loss is probably contributing to it too, he should know that. “You have to go, quickly-”

“What about you?”

“I’ll-” Corin’s leg finally gives out, and he collapses over on it with a hiss. He presses his hand against his wound. The blood is hard to see against the black of his pants, but when he pulls his hand away from the wound he’s able to see the deep red. “Fantastic.”

It shouldn’t be serious enough to kill him, but the amount of blood he’s loosing is cause for concern. A wound like this wouldn’t bleed so much unless it had hit something important. Just his luck.

“You’re injured.” The Mandalorian’s says, angrily stepping towards him. Corin can't help but flinch at the sudden movement. He shouldn't have gotten hurt, he's angry enough at himself for taking a hit from such terrible shots to begin with, he doesn’t need to the Mandalorian berating him for his own mistake.

“I just need a minute.” Corin laughs breathlessly. He needs to calm down, but he hasn't pushed himself too far, but it's weird, he doesn’t remember being this tired since... Ahh, it’s too hard to think. “You can go, I’m just going to rest here for a minute.”

The Rodian and the other humans are still close by somewhere, and maybe more of them too. They’re both in a lot of trouble if they get caught, and Corin’s only going to slow the Mandalorian down if he waits for him to find his footing. There’s no point in both of them getting caught.

The Mandalorian ignores Corin and knees down next to him, moving his hand away slowly to take a look at his injury as his leg, and then prods his side lightly which sends a flash of pain up his body. The pain makes him breathe in sharply, and it only makes it worse. Broken ribs, maybe? Hm. Corin doesn’t remember where he picked that up from. “You need medical attention first.”

Huh? First?

Corin stares blankly at the Mandalorian.

What?

No, no. The Mandalorian has to go now. Corin can hear shouting now, is distant, but it’s there, and he knows the Mandalorian can hear it too with how his hand reaches for his rifle, looking down the street.

This is ridiculous. Corin bats the Mandalorian’s hands away and puts pressure on the wound on his leg again.

“I’ll just slow you down. It’s fine, I know where the medbay is from here.” A good lie. “It’s not far, I can get there myself.” Another good lie, but the Mandalorian doesn’t budge from his side. Corin thinks of big brown eyes and long green ears. Corin won’t be the reason the Mandalorian doesn’t get back to his child. “The little one.” Corin says, and the Mandalorian’s helmet snaps to look at him. “Your kid is alone somewhere right now, right?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t reply, so Corin continues. “What’s going to happen to him if you don’t get back to him soon? You can’t stay here.”

The Mandalorian hesitates, and Corin watches the Mandalorian struggle with what to do as the shouting gets louder. It’s not hard to do the math to figure out what his decision here should be, it’s clear that they’re outnumbered beyond what they could even hope to handle.

The Mandalorian throws one last look down the street, and then back to Corin. He nods to him, and Corin smiles and nods back.

It’s for the best.

Corin blinks and the Mandalorian is already down the end of the street, checking around the corner before disappearing once again out of sight.

It’s a strange relief to see him go, he's thankful for the help tonight, but he could have done without the hole in his leg.

Regardless, he really shouldn’t stay here in the middle of the street surrounded by bodies.

He takes his hand off of where he was putting pressure on his wound. He’ll need both arms to pull himself to the side of the street at the very least. Corin rips one of the sleeves off of his shirt and ties it around his leg. With both hands free, he sets his hands on the ground, preparing to drag himself along the floor, but before he can get anywhere his left hand hits against something.

Corin turns his head to see the Mandalorian’s blaster lying innocently next to his hand.

He laughs humourlessly to himself, he sure hopes the Mandalorian doesn't want that back. Three times is hopefully the charm for them. 

The most Corin can do for himself is drag his useless body around the corner and into the closest alleyway, off the street and away from the bodies. He doesn’t care about what’s in the trash bags that he crawls up to, and rests his head against them. He’s hidden enough here, out of the light of the street lamps.

Just a short rest, he tells himself as many sets of footsteps thunder past his resting spot.

This is all going to catch up to him someday, making so many enemies.

And he’ll be alone when they do.

Never mind pulling himself off of the street, he should get back to his ship, but his eyes are heavy and his legs are tired. It wouldn’t be too bad to stay here a little longer.

He’ll be fine, even if he’s alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself, this one will be shorter! Like seriously, like super short, like super super short, super quick super short!! and here we are
> 
> i remember when i was a wee lass and the shock i felt when i found out that spice is like the crazy addictive drug in the sw universe, if youre anything like me who thought it was like, chilli powder or smthin, i understand.
> 
> Big kisses u all, seriously, ive never wrote anything before and seeing such kind feedback, your comments and kudos and bookmarks, its like waking up on christmas, i never thought so many people would read something i wrote, its really really cool, i dont know how to express it to you all how much i treasure it and you
> 
> i hope you all are doing well, and have a fantastic time out there until the next time we meet! lets go team!


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